7 November 2009
7:20 pm

A crack outside echoed through the empty-feeling autumn air.  The bear-sized Knox Greyfriar ambled slowly down the woody path, his nose in a newspaper.  Creak when his front garden gate as he passed through on route home in the growing darkness.  He was a Wizengamot Elder and near on seven in the evening was not an unusual time for him to be making his way home.  Sometimes it was later, in fact, so absorbed he was in his work from time to time.  But tonight he was hoping to catch his teenaged son before he left for work.

Well, he wasn't all that teenaged anymore.  Devlin had left school early, but he was 17.  A proper grown Wizard by most standards.  He worked a job (tending bar at Calavaras in Diagon Alley) and it was probably soon coming that he'd leave the small, cramped Greyfriar house for a place closer to city center.  But truth be told, Knox was actually getting used to things.  As horrible and rocky their relationship was since they both found out in a shocking manner they were family (don't even ask - all the drama), things seemed to have settled down.  Life with each other was beginning to seem normal.  Routine. 

Knox ducked through the small rounded door that was the entrance, and sent his cloak floting to hang on the iron coat-tree.  Inside it was warm and nicely lit.  Clutter everywhere, as always.  There was something simmering on the hearth.  He didn't see Devlin, who worked nights.  He must be upstairs. 

Devlin's room was Knox's old study.  A tiny attic room with a claustrophic sloping ceiling, barely big enough for a bed a chair and a wardrobe.  There hadn't been much space to offer when the lad had been dropped in his lap, but there it was.

"Devlin?" he called up.  "Are you still here?"

"Devlin? Are you still here?"

"Aye aye, coming..." a voice filtered down through the cracked walls, followed by a crescendo of thuds as Devlin appeared at the base of the stairs. His hair was still wet from the bath and, with each move, scattered little droplets of water onto the crisp white shirt that hung unbuttoned. Around his neck, nestled in the dark hairs that peeked out of the neckline of his dingy, well worn undershirt, was a Saint Christophers amulet that gleamed in the dim fire light. He was sock and shoeless, and his belt flapped against his legs, unbuckled.

"Something going on?" He said, his thick brows knitting in concern. For a couple days he had been feeling a heavy layer of dread, but with no discernible reason why. He chalked it up to stress. "I just got out of the bath..." He explained as he ran a hand through his thick curls and begin to button up the shirt.

It had been a while now that Devlin had lived under Knox's roof, and to be fair, he still had reservations. It hadn't been easy to find out that the woman you once thought of as the embodiment of perfection and virtue had an affair with a man you had always considered 'unlikable'. But over the course of a couple months now, Devlin had come more and more to terms with his plight. Knox had really stepped up as a father, even when Dev had done nothing but push him away, and now scenes like this were almost normal. Comfortable, even.

Devlin tucked in his shirt as he scooted around the table towards the fire. Pulling out a ladle of soup, he sipped a little off the top and winced "Shite that's hot..." He muttered, dropping it back into the cauldron with a splatt. Grabbing a pair of wooden bowls off the tiny counter, he motioned towards the pot "Hungry? It's vegetable stew... Got it from a mate at work. Swears his mum doesn't make it with any meat products, so you should be good for a bowl. Homegrown too, so... it should be good."

"No, nothing," Knox assured Devlin, with a touch of skepticism.  What made him think something was wrong.  "Just wanted to catch you before you left."

He was coming fully into the house now, occupying the space that had been only his for many many years.  It was a tight space, but he knew it pace by pace, inch by inch.  And he swore he knew where everything was; that is unless Devlin had moved something.  And he never did.

"Stew?"  Knox set down his paper and bag on his chair and padded across the rugs in his boots to the wall-sized hearth and cooking cubbies and ovens.  "Smells good."  He nodded in approval - he'd have some soon.  Right after he finished getting settled in for the night. 

The old wizard, who was graying at the temples lately, went back across to his chair.  He removed his boots and an outer robe, leaving him in long loose sleeves and a vest.  He took off his hat and scratched his head.  He was dressing down and Devlin was doing the opposite - getting ready for his day.

"You're leaving soon, yes? Closing again?"

"You're leaving soon, yes? Closing again?"

"'Fraid so... Crowley's kid is sick so he called out. Might not get home til pretty late.." Devlin replied as he ladled the stew into the bowls and then sashayed around his portly father with surprising ease for a room so small. Growing up in a household of five boys and one girl in an apartment not much bigger than the tiny cottage meant that Devlin was well accustomed to navigating cramped living spaces. In fact, the room seemed much bigger than it did back 'home' thanks to the overwhelming lack of teenage boys and one hyperactive little girl, though the latter was going to be staying there as well.

Which reminded Devlin of something. He added a couple of spoons and a few hunks of hard bread a tad past their sell by date to the table and then deftly stole Knox's Prophet from its resting place. He snapped it open to the classifieds as he took a seat. His hazel eyes swept over the various requests for missing cats, chance meetings and defunct sneakoscopes for sale, looking for anything marked 'FOR RENT'. As he read, he dipped his dried husk of bread into the stew and chewed noisily.

"...The Falcons are doing pretty well. Might make the Championship this year..." Dev broke the silence between mouthfuls "... That is if Wiedman can keep outta trouble long enough...Crazy git..." He added in a conversational tone, though sports were hardly a topic he knew enough about to keep said conversation rolling. Keeping out of trouble wasn't either, for that matter. He just wanted something to distract his father from the fact that he was looking at places to rent. Dev hadn't told Knox he was planning to move in the near future and it was peaceful moments like this that made it a difficult subject to bring up. Glancing up at the tired, greying old man over the top of the paper, Devlin felt a twinge of guilt for wanting to leave him so badly after finally coming into a sort of peaceful coexistence. He had to face the fact that he was, and would always be, a rotten son.

He took the paper.  Knox had settled into his chair, but so had Devlin in his (the one other chair that was usually pulled up to big cooking surface) and had the Prophet.  But they were getting used to this.  Getting used to the sharing.    He pushed himself up again and went towards the hearth.  Fine.  He'd eat first and read the rest of it after Devlin left and headed out.

Devlin had served him up a bowl of his co-worker's left-over, supposedly vegetarian stew.  Instead of returning to his chair, he stayed standing at the tall table.  He could at least peek at the back page of the paper while he sampled his dinner. 

"Falcons, hmm..." he concurred.  "Soup's good.  Barley in it."

Typical small talk. 

"Have you hear from Lucy?  Your sister?"  Turned out, Devlin wasn't the only wizard in the family, although little Lucy had managed to be magical without the aid of any Greyfriars.  A proper muggleborn, and good for her.  It was a tangled situation, but this summer Lucy Matthews fell into Devlin's care and thus, into Knox's house.  It had only lasted a few weeks and she'd been tiny enough to sleep comfortably in his big chair (or in Devlin's bed if she was clever about it), but she was at Hogwarts now.  He'd been fond of her instantly, despite himself, and asked after her from time to time.

Devlin gave up his search after a few minutes, not finding anything worthwhile to bother looking into. He wanted a proper home for his sister, just for once. Where she could have her own room with toys just for her and not to have to fight 5 others for a few minutes in a cold shower. It was his main reason for wanting to leave Knox's house, not for himself but for Lucy. She deserved it. Sighing despondently at his lack of progress, Devlin closed the newspaper and scooted it across the table towards his father. He would look again tomorrow.

"Have you hear from Lucy?  Your sister?"

"Yeah... She wrote to me the other day..." He said as he pushed to his feet and retrieved a small earthenware mug from one of the hooks. Grabbing his wand, he flicked his wrist and muttered loud enough to fill the cup with a stream of cool, refreshing water. He returned to his seat and took a long drink before continuing "... She's doing alright. Having trouble making friends, but I think my brothers and I are to blame for that. She's a bit rough... Loved her new quill though, thanks for the suggestion..."

Devlin was still slightly amazed at how much easier things had become between the two of them. A couple months back and he wouldn't have even accepted a suggestion from Knox, much less thank him for it.

A smile danced across Knox's face as he continued on with his soup and Devlin obliged him with news of Lucy. 

"Good, good," he said quietly as Devlin spoke.  He was glad to hear she was settling it.  No matter how old he got, it was still easy to remember the raw excitement, wonder and strangeness of his first year at Hogwarts.  Of how immense it all seemed, how grand, and how small he felt.  Everything happened so rapidly, so intensely.  And the coming into his magic... he was so happy that Lucy was now experiencing that.  It wasn't hard to tell that live in the muggle Matthews home was not so grand or empowering.

But he positively lit up when Devlin said that she loved the quill.  Knox had seen in Lucy what he'd seen in many girls her age - the need for a special quill.  When he taught History it was all he could but ban them, all those essays in rainbow or shimmering scarlet ink that smelled like oranges and lemons.  The one Devlin had chosen for Lucy had been a little different, but just the thing. 

He nodded to himself, pleased.  Very pleased.  And he was so proud of Devlin who was acting more adult, more driven than he ever had now that Lucy was his responsibility.  It was frankly inspiring, if that could be believed.  That Knox would learn a thing or two about family from his teenage son.

"You're off then?"  He looked up.  Devlin seemed to have finished and was preparing to go.

The way Knox lit up when Devlin mentioned the quill left him with conflicting emotions. On one hand, he was so happy and so thankful that Greyfriar had accepted Lucy so readily, as though she were his own child. She, and to a lesser extent himself, really needed the stability of a home and a parent who cared. On other other hand, the same thing made him feel a bit jealous. Knox had been furious when he had discovered Devlin was his illegitimate son, so needless to say, he hadn't done much lighting up or beaming proudly. But then, Devlin could hardly blame him. He hadn't been too pleased at the idea either, nor had he been very discreet with his feelings about it. However, in the end, he was more concerned with Lucy's safety than his own need for fatherly approval. So he bit back his jealousy and just hoped that one day, Knox would be proud of him as well.

He would never have imagined that Knox was proud of him at that moment.

"You're off then?"

"Yeah..." He said gruffly as he pulled on his jacket and shoved a worn baseball cap over his dark curls. As he scooted past Knox, Devlin put a hand on his shoulder. It might have just been for balance had he not left it there for a moment after he squeezed through. "I... I just wanted you to know..." He said softly, his voice strangled with emotion "... How thankful I am that you gave Lucy a chance. I really need her in my life right now and she needs me..." He paused and then added caustiously "... And we both need...you. So um...Thanks... Dad." He said the last part so quietly that it was almost inaudible as he gave the shoulder a gentle squeeze. And then, embarrassed, he rushed from the house.

And their short time together was ending.  It was a shame - they'd tried to avoid each other for the last year and now that they were more or less stuck together by court order and familiar necessity in Knox's too-small house.  But now that their relationship was finally becoming something both of them could rely on and were taking comfort in... Lucy was at Hogwarts and both of them were busy at work on opposite schedules. 

Knox let his spoon rest with a clatter in his empty bowl and shifted a little to make room for Devlin passing.  But Devlin had stopped, his hand on his shoulder.  Knox was as still as if he'd just spotted a unicorn and didn't want to spook it, so rare was an affectionate touch between them.  They didn't hug.  Hell, they didn't shake hands.  The last time they'd had significant physical contact had been when Devlin was struggling to survive a horrible assault and Knox had to draw upon his old Healer skills to help him through.  Knox let his eyes close, trying to understand this strange moment, the weight of the hand, the sadness in Devlin's voice.  Was it sadness?

It was a horrible feeling to be thanked for something so basic as a father taking care of children.  Lucy wasn't his, of course, but she was Devlin's sister and he would have never turned her away.  Something so ... basic and giving children what they needed - food, love, shelter... But the thanks held a sliver of shame because these were basic things he had not been provided son for nearly 17 years.  He couldn't at first, and then, he'd nearly refused.  And now that he was finally doing what he should have done, he was being thanked.

Knox might have spoke up more quickly, might have been quicker on the draw and been able to call Devlin back before he disappeared, but his throat was tight.  The door shut and a few moments later he heard the crack of Apparition. 

In the dim light of evening, Knox set his elbows on the table and held his face in his hands.  "You're a good lad, son," he said to himself with great effort.