Dear Mr. Kinsey,

It is with great regret that I must inform you that your mother has passed away on the 26th, this past Wednesday. I won't go into the details of her death, as at this point, they would only taint her memory. As her only known living relative I must ask you to go to Manchester to see to her funeral and other legal actions necessary in her name at this time of terrible sadness.

I'm sorry, dear boy, I know you weren't close, but a mother is a mother and having your only parent depart like this can't be easy for you. I am terribly sorry I must take you away from school at such a busy time with your finals and graduation. I can, as your legal counsel, deal with all this in a quiet and respectful manner, but no matter your relationship, you should come say your final goodbyes, Phillip.

Yours respectfully,
Barnaby J. E. Tucker

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He hadn't thought of the woman that birthed him in a long time. Phillip wouldn't call her mother—he hadn't since he was seven and the reality of his family situation hit him fully and violently. He'd been doing so well, away from that house, away from her toxic self and away from anything he might've once called home—Hogwarts had become his home, and he was doing marvelous. So the letter came as a shock, he was just in the process of seeing to his magnificent prank, grinning from ear to ear and oblivious to the news that would really darken his day.

The owl, he recognized as Barnaby's, had him frowning as he looked down at the simple envelope, his Hogwarts location written in the black spiked writing of his attorney. Whom would have no business owling him unless something was greatly amiss. It turned out, by some standards, something was quite amiss. His first reaction was that he didn't care, and Barnaby could just sort it out without his presence, and ding dong, th' witch is dead and thank bloody hell she' finally gone... He hadn't seen or heard of her for almost two years, but his hurt and hatred at the woman was still just as strong.

But it was just that, wasn't it? She couldn't hurt him anymore, and reading the letter once more, one phrase rolled through his head repeatedly: come say your final goodbyes. He should... No matter how bad of a mother she'd been and no matter how much he'd suffered because of her as a child, and how terribly she had broken him at such a young age—he should go. He was better than her and it seemed petty not to. Besides, he'd probably be the only one in attendance at the funeral. And no matter how vile a person had been during their life, nobody should have to suffer through that.

He was so shaken by the news, he could barely even process it properly, never mind actually react to it. He needed to clear his head, talk to someone... Alex, he needed Alex. And then he'd have to deal with the school and see how he was going to achieve all this.

---

Alex would be allowed to come with him, thank god, for he had no idea what to do with himself, otherwise. He didn't even know where to start or what to do. He was numb and quiet and conflicted and hurt, and felt both angry that she went an' took a dirt nap 'fore I could show her that nar just because she cocked up, tha' mithering hag, I didn' grow up into a barmpot and I did something with meself... They'd be staying at Rick's, it was decided with the Headmistress, and would check in with the school on arrival. Then they'd apparate to Manchester for the funeral on Saturday, and again on Sunday to sort out the house, her belongings, notifications and so forth.

In the early hours of the morning they portkeyed from Hogsmeade to London. First thing he did was turn on his phone, and text Lala, and on second thought Michael, as well. If there was one good thing out of going back to Manc was getting to see Michael. He was quiet, unusually so, walking at Alex's side until they reached Donovan's. They'd have a few moments to talk and then would have to apparate to Manchester. The funeral was at 9. Lala replied curtly that she'd be there, no trace of her usual half-assed teasing and joking in the text. And he really got the gravity of the situation then.

As he entered Rick's shop, following blindly in Alex's steps he raised his eyes to them both and nodded a greeting, grave and sullen, looking small and unsure. "How 'bout it, eh? She finally snuffed it..." he said quietly, an attempt at a joke, a deprecating, pathetic little laugh escaping his lips. "We're leaving in twenty" he added, serious now, eyes cast at his own shoes—proper dress shoes and a proper black suit and a proper haircut, and it really was quite funny that someone had to die to get him looking proper. He swallowed tightly and looked at Rick, lip quivering and fear in his eyes.

"Ye coming with us?" he asked softly, barely a whisper, searching for Alex's hand to squeeze it tightly, to anchor himself so he wouldn't completely fall apart in front of either of them. He really wanted him to... Rick was the closest Phillip had ever gotten in terms of a familial male figure. Silly little crush aside. He realized then, that although now he was all alone in terms of blood family, he still had them—his real family. And he wanted for her to see it, see that just because she hadn't ever wanted him - and done everything short of giving him away to show it to him and to the world at large - it didn't mean someone else hadn't. Or so he hoped, at least.

With more promptness than usual, Rick had replied to the headmistress’ letter—had spent little more than a minute to stare blankly at it, the words Mr Kinsey and for the time being staring back at him in black ink. And then, half an hour later – after he’d sent off a reply with the eagle he kept on the roof for only the most expeditious of responses – he’d dressed and seen himself out, because this wasn’t the kind of thing you broke to your family over Floo unless you absolutely had to.

Phillip might not be a Donovan by blood, but ever since CeeCee found him sweeping in the shop a week after his employment and they had learned he was free for the taking hadn’t had anyone worth calling family, Rick’s– or at least, what was left of it– had taken the young wizard in with a resolute generosity that, to an outsider, probably seemed both touching and terrifying. They accepted Phillip wholeheartedly– clumsiness, gibberish and all –that Rick was frequently pestered by questions of the teenager’s well-being, as well as unexpected visits to the shop to see him. They were entirely expectant to have him over during breaks. But in retrospect it all had a very decisive note of finality to it—that this was happening, and would happen even if there were reservations from the boy himself—and anyone who disapproved would be heard and promptly ignored.

And so in all but name, Phillip Kinsey became one of theirs. Once Shona and CeeCee knew, everyone else had heard as well, or would soon enough. Their mother’s features were soft with sympathy when they told her. As Phillip stood there, clutching Alex’s hand and looking as painfully young as he’d ever seen him, Rick—looked at him, at this miserable-looking kid who had ingratiated himself so deeply, so thoroughly into their family.

(Come to think of it, Alex was reaching that point, too.)

Buttoning the last of his cuffs, Rick looked at them both and cracked a small, dry smile. “Why else d’you think I’m dressed like this?” He gestured at himself—at the plain, somber black of his suit and tie.

“Rick,” Shona chided, emerging from the back clad in similarly dark attire, CeeCee trailing closely behind her. “Now is not the time.” Her eyes set on Phillip, and visibly softened. “Hey, kiddo.”

CeeCee, moving ahead of her, went to air kiss Alex’s cheek in greeting before moving onto Phillip, arms outstretched for a hug. “How’re you feeling?” she asked, embracing him tightly before letting go—letting Shona step in for a hug as well. “Mom said they’ll meet us in Manchester.” Coming all the way from California, they had decided it’d be best if they did.