10:43 am, Friday
August 25, 2008

The Greyfriar House, in Kent

A very timid looking muggle was creeping up with walk, wielding a single, ragged letter in one hand. And in the other, an open cell phone.  She was wearing a blue uniform, with a red jacket over.  Royal Mail, the insignia said.

She crept, crept, crept.  "Hullo? Hullo, Jim, can you here me? Blast this phone!" She shook the little device and thumbed hard on its buttons. "Now what! This isn't even on my map..."

She winced over a bush. She peered through the gate.  And saw a large man in what looked like a very very fancy bathrobe smoking a cigar with green smoke.

He looked just as surprised to see her as she was him!

"Mr. Grimflier?" she attempted.  The name on the letter was so horribly marred that any might consider it a valiant attempt at 'Greyfriar'.  "That you?" she almost begged it to be true.  The poor mail carrier had been the latest in a series of mail carriers charged with finding a destination for this letter.

Knox Greyfriar looked up from the Daily Prophet and his cigar and his tea and then suddenly realized the woman was a muggle.  He doused his overtly magical cigar and folded over his very magical newspaper.  He nodded.

"Mr. Grimflier at your service..." he said, skeptically and rose from the chair.

At his movement, the poor women flinched so mightily that she left the ground and left the letter on the sidewalk outside his garden gate.

Arriving at the gate, he watched her scuttle all the way down the narrow lane to a little truck idling by the main road.

It was only then he picked up the letter.  He opened it.


Meanwhile, in another place altogether, the other letter was also arriving at its destination.

"Devlin... Devlin... DEVLIN!"

"Mmph... Wha...." Devlin's eyes, crusted over with gook, cracked open at the high pitched, and moving, sound of his sisters voice. No sooner had his eyes focused did a pink pajama clad blur bolt into the room and perform a perfect Big Splash onto his prone form. The attack rattled the floorboards, sent the old springs of the bed creaking and knocked the wind out of Devlin. He let out a strangled string of curse words as his sister giggled and waggled her brows at him, her gap-toothed mouth stretching wide across her pretty face "You shouldn't cuss Devlin... It's bad..."

"And Lyle and Dean shouldn't be letting you watch pro-wrestling again..." Devlin wheezed as he managed to push himself up into a seating position. Lucy rolled off of him enough to allow him to pull himself out of the confines of the well used mattress. Forgetting that he wasn't in Hogwarts, Devlin promptly smacked his head on Lyles bunk above him. Letting out another, clearer, string of curses, Devlin held his head while Lucy wailed with laughter. "I'm glad you are amused..." He grumbled, rubbing the forming bruise. Glancing at the clock he saw that is was only 10:40. Far too early for him to be getting up. "I thought I told you last night not to wake me until at least One..."

"Dad said there was something downstairs for you... a letter or somethin'" Lucy smiled, obviously pleased that she was able to annoy Devlin. "Maybe its a loooooove letter...." She cooed, batting her eyelashes and making wet kissing noises as Devlin pulled on a pair of jeans. "Don't be a dork." He muttered, bending over and wrapping his arms around her waist. Hoisting her up, he whirled her upside down. Squealing she kicked the air furiously, kneeing him in the head a few times, as he made his way out of the room he shared with Lyle and Dean to the living room.

Tossing the red faced Lucy onto a faded couch, where Damon was placidly eating cheerios and watching cartoons, Devlin made his way into the small kitchen, where Lyle and Dean were frying something unidentifiable. "Wheres dad?" Devlin asked, though his level of disinterest was evident in his voice. Lyle shrugged before spraying a bunch of whipped cream into his mouth "Dunno... He said he had to work late..." Devlin snorted and opened the fridge, taking out a carton of milk and downing a mouthful. Wincing at the taste, he glanced at the date and promptly tossed it into the sink "Wheres the letter I was sent..." He said after swallowing the disgusting swill.

"On the table..." Dean said, chewing what now appeared to be a fried spam/pancake loudly. Devlin glanced at the unopened pile of bills and sighed before taking the only clean chair. It didn't take long to find the letter he was looking for, since it was the only one that didn't have a bright red 'Overdue' stamped across the front. It did have very very faded writing and a postmark that indicated it had been handled and sent back many times. He wondered why, since they had lived at this place for so long.

Tearing it open, his eyes fell on the opening line, more importantly on the name following his. " 'oo is Mox 'Ayflyer..." His brother chewed in his ear as he tried to read over Devlin's shoulder. "Bugger off Dean..." Devlin snapped, standing up and hiding the letter. Greyfriars name was not welcome in the slightest and he had a feeling he would need to be reading this in the private and sitting down. Naturally that meant only one place in the Matthews home: The loo.

Locking the door behind him, Devlin took a seat at the john and begin to read over the letter again, stopping only when Lucy banged on the door, demanding to be allowed in. "LUCY I HAD BURRITOS LAST NIGHT AND I AM DOING NUMBER TWO! GO AWAY!" He shouted at her. He heard her let out a faint whine of 'ew', in a voice indicating that she was already clutching her nose in a preemptive strike against possible fumes, before her footsteps faded back into the other room. Turning his attention back to his letter, Devlin's eyes swept the page as he read the typewritten words aloud under his breath "This letter has been sent to you in accordance to the wishes of the late Lucretia Santoya Mattews..."

Knox exploded into a flurry of activity.  He was on on fire as he stormed into the house, crashing through the foyer and up the stairs.  He had to make it to London before Devlin.  But first he had to make absolutely sure of something.  His mind was swimming as he thundered through his house looking for the silvery vial.

Suddenly his memories had gone to a fog.  He threw things from the wardrobe, digging down to the crate.  He undid the lock and thrust scrolls out of his way.  He was ransacking his old research, from his fast and crazy days of historical field research.  He was looking for the silvery memory that he'd unstrung from his head over fifteen years ago upon his return to England from Spain. 

Here! The little wooden box erupted with tinkling clinks as he opened it up, his hands trembling. He flicked through them, finally pulling out an unmarked vial.  It was the only record of his suspicion.

And with that, he Apparated.



He appeared in Diagon Ally, and he strode as fast as he could towards the Leaky Cauldron.  He the letter had arrived much later than it's posted date - had Devlin already made it to the museum? Did he already know what this was about? And what was Knox doing with the memory, clutched in his hand? He had no Penseive, and there wasn't one at his destination. 

There was just something about that name and the nature of the letter.  None of it made any sense.  The name wasn't even right.  The timing wasn't right.  He shoved past the shoppers into the Leaky Cauldron, then out onto Charing Cross.

As he walked up the the street, fully garbed in his green and brown wizarding raiment, he felt sure he looked rather obvious.  But his determined scowl on his bearded face would be enough to ward off any interceptions.  He had to stop on Shaftsbury Avenue to catch his breath.

He looked down at the shimmering vial in his hand and shook his head.  The world had just gotten a great deal more complicated.

"Devlin! Devlin open the door!"

Oblivious to the cry of his younger brother on the other side of the thin door, Devlin stared down at the letter blankly, his hazel eyes sweeping the same line over and over. So many questions were tearing around his brain like a haphazard thought hurricane and there he sat in the middle, trying to pick just one out of the bunch. That one, it seemed was the most simple and yet most complicated one of all: Why? Why was he getting a letter from his mother so long after her death? Why was she writing to him AND Greyfriar? Why was he mentioned to do with something in her will? Why would she even KNOW who Greyfriar was?? It made his head spin and his eyes strain to not fog over.

"Devlin! Open the damn door! I gotta piss..." Damon almost screamed, punctuating his shout by kicking the door. BANG BANG BANG. The sound brought Devlin back to reality and suddenly all the confusion he felt surfaced in a fit of rage. Slamming the side of his fist into the door, Devlin shouted "SHUT THE HELL UP DAMON BEFORE I KICK YOUR BLOODY ARSE!" Standing, he crumpled the offending letter into a ball and tossed it in the trash. Bloody peice of bullocks. It had to be a prank. Some creep was getting back at him for all the misdeeds he did last year. Maybe it was George? Did he have to beat the guy up again? Even if it wasn't him, the prospect made Devlin feel slightly better. Only slightly though.

Damon seemed to be scared a bit by Devlin's outburst, or he had simply went to use a tree, and Devlin leaned against the bathroom door heavily, his shoulders sagging. After a moment he glanced at the crumpled letter. Licking his lips, he tried to tear his eyes away. A quick trip to the sink, and a handful of icy water in his face later, Devlin leaned on the sink and stared up into his image. With his 2 day old scruff and his furrowed brows, Devlin looked frighteningly similar to someone... someone he knew.

When his suspicion fully dawned on him, Devlin let out a loud curse and kicked the wall. "Dammit Dammit Dammit..." He muttered, pulling at his hair. What did he do? Did he dare go and find out the truth? Did he see for himself that his horrible suspicions about his saintly mother were true? The idea made him want to vomit, but he managed to hold it in. Instead, he grabbed the paper out of the trash and flattened it. "British Museum... Reading Library... Sophocles... 444...Oh what the bloody hell..." He groaned and shoved the paper in his pocket.

Storming out of the bathroom, he ignored the rather subdued looks on Damon and Lucy's faces. "I'm going out. Stay home. Don't burn the house down..." Devlin ordered Dean and Lyle, who were also strangely quiet, nervous looks passing between them as Devlin pulled on a sweatshirt. "Tell dad I went to a friends. If he even asks..." Dev called over his shoulder, a bit of bitter spite in his tone, as he slammed the screen door behind him. Jumping in the old Volkswagen sitting out front, Devlin slammed the door with enough force to shake the car before spending several minutes revving the engine, begging it to start. When it finally sputtered to life, he hit the gas and swerved out into traffic, nearly sending another car into the opposite lane. So deep in thought was he that he failed to return the rude gesture the other driver offered him. Instead, he sped towards the museum with purpose.  

A young woman's face flashed in Knox's mind as he stared at the shimmering memory.  He couldn't breathe all of a sudden.  He closed his hand over the little glass vial again and held his fist to his chest. Breath came again and he again continued taking hurried steps up the London street towards the British Museum.  This part of town was always clogged with tourists, and Knox's wizards' robes were less and less out of place.

He was finally walking along the black iron fence outside the Museum when he started to trot.  And at the trot, his heart began to lighten.  This was probably nothing.  The delay was because of the strange intersection of muggle and magical postal services.  The reason the letter was the subject of the will probably had more to do with Devlin leaving Hogwarts than with any big mystery.  What happened in Spain - there is no way that had anything to do with anything.  Knox had met Devlin's parents to deliver his letter.  He was a spitting image of his father and mother.  Devlin is a Mattews.  This is absurd.  He'll retreive the message and take it over to Devlin's house, have very awkward tea with his father.  Knox knew the death of Devlin's mother had been hard on him - he'd turned into a different person that year.  Whatever this was about, it probably had more to do with Devlin than with Knox.  Yes, this would all be cleared up soon enough.

He slowed his quick gait to a fast stride as he walked into the beautiful sunlit atrium of the British Museum.  Across the marble floor towards the warm, round reading room in the center of the bright chamber.  He opened the door, looking over his shoulder.  He couldn't help but feel Devlin trotting up behind, as harried as he.

Once in the Reading Room, amid the desks and shelves, he scanned the 360 degrees of books.  And there, at the North end of the room: Devlin standing there with a thick tome in his hands. And eyes filled with a hurt Knox had never seen before.

With insight probably beyond his normal functioning, he drew his wand close to his side and cast an enchantment over himself and the teenager.  To all watching, this would be a happy reunion between two Swedish travelers.

As Devlin swerved in and out of traffic haphazardly, his eyes locked blankly on the road ahead, he kept telling himself that he was crazy. There was no way. No way that Greyfriar could have somehow happened upon his mother and impregnated her. She was a pious, loyal and saintly woman who would have never been unfaithful to her husband, as much of a piece of scum as his father was. If he even was his father. At this point, Devlin was fully prepared to tell everyone he was a bastard.

The joys of muggle transportation got him to his destination in minutes, though they were the longest and most harrowing minutes Devlin had ever witnessed. Squealing to a lopsided stop in the parking lot, Dev and another driver, who had been waiting, exchanged pleasantries in the form of raised middle digits and brief suggestions of what to do with oneself before Devlin stormed off. He didn't have time for this crap. He had to find Sophocles and read why it had anything to do with him.

Storming into the library, Devlin ignored the beauty of the gentle sunlight as it streamed through the windows of the Atrium. He ignored the soft shuffle of pages and murmurs of conversation that would have normally soothed him. He ignored everyone and everything except for one thing: a worn leather copy of Sophocles Oedipus Rex that found its way into his hands after a moment of searching. He found the page... he found the line... and he just stared at it, murmuring the text and mulling it over in his head, as best as he could through the fog.

Shepherd: I pitied the little baby, master, hoped he'd take him off to his own country, far away, but he saved him for this, this fate.  If you are the man he says you are, believe me, you were born for pain.

Oedipus: O God - all come true, all burst to light!

"What the hell does it mean?" He murmured, staring at the lines as his eyes blurred. All hope that he was jumping the wand was gone. The message was cryptic, but it blared loud and clear to Devlin. Tilting his head back, he stared at the ceiling as the pain washed over him. This couldn't be true. His mother wasn't a whore... his father couldn't be the one man he had been so happy to be rid of this year... This was all a sick sick joke. And then a sound caught his attention, and Devlin glanced over at Knox. The hurt in his eyes burned into rage as his fears were realized. Greyfriar didn't look confused, he looked regretful. He had something to regret. Like a son he never wanted from a woman he never loved.

"What the hell does it mean?" Devlin's voice sounded foreign to him as he held up the book. "If you are the man he says you are, believe me, you were born for pain.... what does it mean?" His voice cracked at this, followed by his calm facade as the bubble of anger he was holding back burst. Pulling his arm back, he flung the book at Knox, aim be damned, as he snarled at him "What the HELL did you do to my MOTHER? HUH? WHAT DID A PIECE OF SHITE LIKE YOU DO TO MY MOTHER?!?..."

Striding over, he grabbed the taller man by the shirt and screamed at him, his face red with fury "TELL ME IT'S A LIE! TELL ME MY MOTHER IS A LIAR AND NOT A DIRTY WHORE!  I WOULD RATHER BE THE SON OF A DECEITFUL BITCH THEN A SON OF YOURS!" By this time Devlin was so furious that his anger left him feeling weak and pathetic. It was too late. His mother had already slept with Greyfriar... she had already had him... she had already died. There was nothing he could do and he hated it. Gritting his teeth so hard they ground together, Devlin hissed through them "Tell me... what... you... did.."

"Devlin!" Knox's voice was a surprised whisper.

Devlin was strong and full of fury, and Knox rocked back against a card catalog when Devlin ran at him and clutched at his robes.  Knox put his hands up and surrendered for the moment.  His mind was swimming, the terrible revelation confirmed in Devlin's shaking demands.

• It was 1989 and Knox was in Seville, Spain buried in the archives in the basement of a monastery.  Wizards' robes were easily traded for a monks'.

Confirmed.  And for the first time, Knox saw the answer that had been on Devlin's face every single day of Hogwarts for the past six years - his own face.  The curve of the jaw, the dark beard, just filling in for Devlin now.  The heavy brow, that nose.  They were his. And Lucretia's.

Lucretia Santoya.

• She was praying so hard.  And Knox, intent on lonely study.  Both of them searching for some sort of comfort in that place.  She was lovely, and they were strangers.  They loved to talk about everything that was today.  And they loved not talking about their past and futures.

Her lovely gentleness.  She'd been so kind to him.  "She wasn't a whore!" he hissed and pushed Devlin away as soon as the boy's grip loosened.  

"You don't know what you're talking about!" he was trying not to bellow, despite the enchantment, but he couldn't help it. Devlin was so hateful.  He'd never hurt that woman - what they'd done had been an act of kindness.  There was no way! What were the chances!

"She was gentle! I was gentle! This is none of your business. It means nothing! It means nothing!  You're not mine - you're - you're - you're you.  Don't you think if you were mine you'd be the way you are? You don't care about anyone - you cheat!"

He snatched up the book, Devlin had thrown, and it fell open to the right page.  The passage was highlighted on page 444. He read it over again. Why had she done this? How did she find him? Had she let herself be haunted her entire life, only to haunt them both after her death?

• Late nights. Her praying, grasping for truth and guidance.  Knox looking for the same things in the old records, the old illuminated texts which held important records about those lost in the inquisition, where his kind had been killed by hers.  He wanted to caress her pain away.  She wanted to prove he wasn't as alone as he thought he was.

He rounded on the teenager, his eyes dark and resentful. "I did nothing more than what she did.  We never saw each other again. I came back to England, and for all I knew, she stayed in Spain.  I didn't know.  How could I know! You were in front of my bloody face for six years and she didn't say a word to me! What would you have me do!?"

He straightened up and stared down at the kid.  His son.  The guilt wracking his soul was unbearable and while his face was screwed up with resentment and anger, he felt manipulated.  He felt guilt.  He knew what Devlin's father, no - Lucretia's husband - was like.  He couldn't help but wonder if he couldn't have done better for Devlin.  Instead, Knox had lived his own selfish life.  And now this teenager was staring up at him.  Motherless. And fatherless.  An orphan staring at the orphan-maker.

• It had been a mistake.  Their embrace in the old monks' cell had been true and drawn truths out of them.  She was married.  And he was a wizard.  Knox had recoiled from the adultery, and she had panicked at his devilry.  "Diablo!"  

"She wasn't a whore! You don't know what you're talking about! She was gentle! I was gentle! This is none of your business. It means nothing! It means nothing!  You're..."

When Greyfriar pushed him away, Devlin allowed himself to stumble back, his hands finding his ears in an attempt to block out the mans damning words. "Shut up... shut up... I don't want to hear it..." He mumbled plaintively, more to himself then to the older man, as he turned away and leaned his head against the wall next to him. He wanted to just slam his head into it, repeatedly, until the thoughts of his pure and innocent mother... his perfect angelic mother... in a carnal embrace with the portly and hairy Greyfriar was erased. No amount of obliviating could take away that image. It was burned into the forefront of his mind, popping up in all it's sinful and grotesque glory every time he closed his eyes.

"Oh god... they were right..." He muttered to himself as Greyfriar went to the book to read what Devlin had just finished. They in question were voices from his past. His father, drunk, calling him a 'bastard' and 'no son of mine'. A laughing classmates face, pre-bludgeoning, taunting him for looking suspiciously a lot like Greyfriar with his growing beard. His mother, on her deathbed, whispering lovingly in his ear that someday he would learn why she was being punished by god. It all made sense now.

"I did nothing more than what she did.  We never saw each other again. I came back to England, and for all I knew, she stayed in Spain.  I didn't know.  How could I know! You were in front of my bloody face for six years and she didn't say a word to me! What would you have me do!?"

Greyfriars new accusations burned Devlins ears, tearing him away from those disturbing memories and forcing him to join the even more disturbing reality. Whirling about, he glared at the taller man, his hazel eyes fierce and hateful. "How dare you... How dare you blame her!" He snarled, taking his turn at pushing Greyfriar back "She was raising 6 children in a tiny two bedroom house... 7 if you count my idiot father... working two jobs by day and praying desperately for our wellbeing every night... What were you doing? Travelling the world and seducing more innocent young women? How many others are there than me, you slimy piece of shite..."

Devlin gave the man one more hard push before snarling, his voice broken with his rage. "... My mother was more then you deserve... You... You have no right to say any... anything about her... " Falling into a nearby chair, his energy depleted and his head spinning, Devlin buried his face into the palms of his hands and murmured "... You're not my father... you can't be...you can't be..."

Knox let Devlin rage and thrash in his hatred and shock, just watching the teenager try to unknot the facts, sort out his life under this new light.  Knox was doing the same thing, his eyes on Devlin but not seeing.  He thought about his own marriage to Meredith Ballentyne, how he'd met her when he was cavorting with the St. James cousins.  How they didn't see each other again until '92, and then married.  They'd wanted kids, Knox had wanted a son or daughter, but he and Meredith shouted at each other far too much.  It ended.

And now, with having left Hogwarts, Meredith was writing him from Argentina where she was working.  Asking him down.  But now - how could he leave.

He saw Devlin in the chair, his head in his hands.  Knox rubbed his own face and swore.  He had to be the adult.  Devlin would push him away - and if Matthews Senior knew, Knox suspected Devlin might not have a place to go home to.  Leaving the young wizard now would be a greater sin than what had happened in Seville.   Knox knew he'd take no little beating from Devlin no matter what he did, letting him be or finally doing right by him.

It was only after a few moments of silence that Knox finally said something.  The words sounded stupid and false on his lips. 

"Do you need anything? I can help. If you need."

It was horrible, learning a truth like that. He had spent years idolizing his mother for the purity she possessed when surrounded by all the sin and filth his father brought in, for raising her children and attending to the home with a sense of duty and love that most woman would have abandoned long before, for being the perfect woman. And now, that image was ruined. When he tried to think of his mother, in her delicate and almost ethereal beauty, all he could see was Knox's hairy back as he destroyed her purity with a primal act of lust. No matter how much the man claimed it was mutual and full of gentle passion, Devlin wouldn't... no he couldn't... believe it. His mother would never do such a thing, it had to have been forced upon her. Needless to say, this thought did not endure himself to his 'father'. Knox's pathetic attempt to sooth him didn't either.

"Do you need anything? I can help. If you need."

Devlin sucked in his lips and breathed deeply through his nose, trying to keep from pulling his wand on the man. Once he had managed to bite back the anger, he looked at him, the hate in his eyes more apparent then ever. "You know what... Screw you..." He said, laughing slightly as though the idea of Knox helping him in any way was ludicrous "... Screw. You. I have lived for 17 years without a single lick of help from you and I sure as hell don't want it now..."

Standing, he shrugged his sweatshirt back on and zipped it up roughly, his anger slightly placated at the violent move. Refusing to look at Knox, he added "... The only way you can help me is to stay the hell out of my life. You live your life and let me live mine...No letters, no gifts... no visits... Just stay the hell away..." He paused and looked at Knox blankly for a moment before sneering "... Hope I don't see ya around... Dad."

and with that, Devlin turned sharply on his heels and stormed from the building, the sounds of those reading around him fading back as he left the area of Knox's spell. He didn't look back once. Instead, he threw himself into the old car and revved the engine, wishing that he had something a bit more powerful to drive. At least then he could work his anger out with sheer g-force. Unfortunately, the old Volkswagon didn't leave him that option and instead, he headed towards the only other place that might. The owner may not have liked him too much the last time they met, but Devlin felt that the Black Chimeara was the perfect place for him to down his tears in. That and a good tumbler of firewhiskey.