"Don't give me that look." The window of the chambers came open with a scrape and a squeal, dislodging a resting owl that took off from a stone gargoyle below. She watched it swoop away as she drew a cigarette from her cardigan pocket and touched the end of her wand to it.
"I smoked when I met your father. We both did when we met come to think of it." She took a drag and exhaled after a moment, letting it out of the window.
"Gave it up when we were to be married, not meant to when one has children." "I'm not giving you 'that' look," he protested, folding his arms on the windowsill beside her to look out at the grey day and inhale a little fresh air, that wasn't mingled with her smoke. "I knew that day in Knockturn Alley." The horrid little bedsit, where he had found her after vanishing to Slandermouth
[1], had hosted their reunion, ending their estrangement from the full moon Wolfgang had turned.
"Mm." His mother replied, the cigarette clasped between her lips a moment as she studied him. The breeze caught his dark curls, and she resisted the temptation to brush them away from his face as she had when he was little. When a child, Camille would cut her son's hair time after time, muttering at the rate it grew, and even now he caught her pulling at it and muttering just the same.
Instead, her mind's eye returned to that wretched day in Knockturn as she plucked the stick from her lips.
"I bought some the day after he died[2], though I didn't smoke them until that day. Sorry sweetheart." "What on earth are you apologising for?"
"Anything, everything." She shuffled her feet and looked out upon the grounds, exhaling a deep lungful of smoke.
"Awful habit.""There are worse."
Spending time with just his mother reminded Johann of his childhood again when his father would go abroad on business. Of the two, his mother was always the more accommodating, the more fun to be with. She would tell him stories in Dutch which his father couldn't understand, and ask him grown up questions about morals and decisions. Their common tongues, which she had begun to teach him alongside his native German, made planning his December birthdays and Christmas presents for his father all the easier as Johann's vocabulary widened. When Wolfgang left the house, not a word of German was ever spoken, and it was glorious.
Her lessons ahead of Durmstrang took them to all manner of niches, from attempts to cook dinners, to art galleries, obscure shops where dialects twisted his understanding of language and context, visits to distant relations on stopovers. Johann would find his heart no longer sank when his father announced he would be away again on business over a weekend, as it had heralded such excursions he did not approve. He even relished the days where he snuck into work with his mother to sit quietly at the back of someone's office pouring over books and newspapers, eavesdropping on personal account clients. His mother's colleagues so accommodating in explaining mortgages, pensions rather than have him suffer tedious days with neighbours or the odd family friend.
Between them they took hundreds of photographs while escaping, documenting an increasingly gangly Johann awkwardly attempting to smile at the camera while life swirled around him. It was his mother who had induced the deep love of language and travel, and his father who had instilled the accuracy of business to him to compliment it. He was quite sure each parent had an entirely different vision in the outcome of their son, but he was not displeased at their extreme dedication to furthering him. He would not be where he was today without it.
They took tea, and Johann rescued a familiar photo album from the bottom of the bookshelves. It had been amongst the few belongings that his parents had brought across before their eviction in Frankfurt. He was quite sure his father would not have prioritised them, but to his mother family photos were cherished. She had convinced Ignan to keep his own when Johann's Great Uncle Merik's house was cleared
[3]. It had seemed a good way to help him broach how things had been, and how they were now. He nudged their armchairs together before taking a seat to the left of his mother. She nudged the stool across to offer it to put his feet up with hers, but as he used to in his younger days he folded his legs and tucked his stockinged feet under. He didn't change.
"Aunt Aloisia's face is a picture. What was I doing?" Camille pushed her glasses up her nose to better examine the indicated photograph.
"Folding paper hats out of newspaper." The explanation was terribly straightforward.
"Oh, I see!" Johann replied, suddenly the scene made sense, "She didn't know you taught me." The family photo album rested on the armchair arms pressed together. Johann's fingertips went gently to his mouth, studying a photograph of himself aged about eight or nine with his aunt, his late father's sister, sat at the dining table in their old home in Frankfurt. His aunt was merrily folding simple paper hats while he had folded an origami crane, and her mouth hung open in surprise. The framing of the shot suggested his father had taken it.
"You used to spend hours folding those." His mother recalled, and the rest of the menagerie. It had been their thing while practicing conversation in different languages. She had learned as a child, was able to fold complex flowers to decorate for cards, presents and seasonal decorations. When he was knee high, Johann had tried to imitate her, so she had begun to teach him.
"I still do sometimes. It helps.
[4]" Johann admitted with a shrug of his slight shoulders. He dropped his hand back to the album, fingertips considering the page turn. Camille's fingers found her son's hand.
"Sweetheart," She spoke gently, looking over her glasses,
"What is it? You've come to tell me something. I'll sit here until dawn if it's however long you need." He was taken aback by the sudden sincerity and claim of time. His mother read him well, despite their estrangements over the past decade. This should have been no surprise to him, she had raised him, spent over thirty years living and loving the man who their son also shared mannerisms from. Still for some reason he thought he could do a good job of hiding things. For someone perceived to be so clever, he once again proved his idiocy.
"I'm fine." He heard himself say automatically, and gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes. He turned the page of the album, only to be presented with a photo of himself in new Durmstrang Uniform, a bright red for the oberteils. It was all slightly too long in the arm for him, ready for the impending growth-spurt. His mother, almost twenty-five years younger in the photograph, stooped to throw her arms around his shoulders and kiss his curls. Narrow eyes closed upon an angular face that he grew into as an adult, and a genuine grin broke out beneath them, they very same boyish grin that slipped out now.
"I forget how short I was once." He remarked, eyes fixed on himself, trying to remember how it had been. These days he and his mother were equals with height, but at eleven, (or had it been twelve?), although tall for his age, he had a considerable amount of growing to do. "I forget a lot of things about me back then."
"I remember it like yesterday." Camille replied, smiling. Her fingers gently ran over the edges of the photograph, bringing back the memory of Wolfgang hunched over the camera, berating them both to smile at look his way, to be happy.
"Summer before your second year there, August 1988. Your father wanted a photograph of you in the sunshine in your uniform. He was very proud of you being an Oberteil. As was I." Johann smiled, recalling the letters to him at school on his success in the entrance exams. He had it somewhere back at Atreus. A happy memory that had once formed his attempts to cast a patronus.
His mother placed a hand gently on his right arm over his jacket sleeve, just enough weight to make him look up and round at her.
"You told me you wanted to be a Zufreiden.""Why?"
"Because you thought the other Oberteils were cruel, and that many of the Zufreiden outshone you in spellworks." His mother gave a gentle shrug, as if she had mildly agreed with Johann's thinking at that age. Never one to raise his wand in anger usually, his magical vocabulary followed more docile bands of practical spells, binding documents, obscuring, duplication, seals and wards.
"Misplaced sense of responsibility." He shook his head. "Much as I disliked many of the other Oberteils, not being amongst them was a far worse prospect." He leaned forward to scoop up his cup of tea from the tray before them, holding it in both hands to pose a question before drinking.
"We used to exchange a lot of letters when I was at school, didn't we?"
"Gosh, yes, my friends would envy me for the fact I heard from you regularly. Most boys don't write to their mother. It is a pity you didn't keep it up as an adult, but well, you grew up." They shared a sad smile, Johann sorry that he had disappointed his mother by growing distant, she sad that her little boy was no longer hers.
"Goodness knows when you had the time to write them." Johann didn't answer, but recalled many a sleepless night in the Durmstrang dormitories, bundled in a blanket by the stove writing letters by the light of the flames. All his memories of those nights at school were that they were bitterly cold and rather lonely. Writing letters home had been of some comfort, as had been staring out for hours on newly fallen snow under moonlight, becoming acquainted with the now all too familiar voices.
"I found the time," he replied eventually, "I should have carried on. You're right." He reached out and placed the empty cup back on the tray, wetting his lips slightly as he did. If he did not manage to find the words today, he would break his promise to Arcturus. He was not in the business of breaking promises.
"I…" He began. "I've finished my tea, shall I pour us both another?"
Camille gave a nod, bemused that her son appeared to have taken quite serious thought as to whether to have another cup of tea. It was not something that usually required a question, but an automatic movement to refill their cups. Spending time with Johann was heartening. They had done precious little of it for a number of years without it dissolving into argument with Wolfgang
[5], and most lately they had spent hours going over the estate
[6]. She wasn't entirely sure
how Johann had been able to recover some of the spurious accounts, but he had much luck in the Caymans
[7]. Even if he was now receiving post addressed to
Sigurd, one of Wolfgang's pseudonyms, it was of some relief to recover hidden funds. Another step towards financial stability, and reimbursing young Hannah Bombay. Though today they had hardly spoken about that work. They had not really spoken about anything at all of consequence. There was a clatter of china.
"Johann, your hands are shaking!" Camille exclaimed as he fumbled the teapot. She sat forward suddenly, a hand touched the pages of the photo album, attempting to keep it from falling, and the other clasped his wrist, taking his right hand in hers.
"Mother!"
"Son." The look over the top of her glasses was unmistakeable. His father had always been the disciplinarian, a look over the top of his glasses had been enough to inform Johann he had overstepped a mark as a child. His mother's wrath was few and far between, but awful. August full moon at the hospital had felt like his heart had been torn to experience her anger directed at him for what had happened to his father
[8]. She had apologised over and over since his death, but it still stung.
"Are you taken ill? Something is not right." Her eyes searched his,
"Are you sleeping? Do I need to take you to St Mungo's?" "No, no." Johann protested meekly and shook his head. "Please stop fussing." He exhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he inhaled again. "I'm fine - I'll
be fine." His mother gripped his hands and he willed his own not to shake.
"You don't look fine, darling. You look awful. Tell me what it is. I'm your mother for Merlin's sake." Johann opened his eyes again and let out the breath he held, laughing silently. She was so complimentary, but if one couldn't have honesty from one's mother… or one's son…
"I'm not alright, no." He admitted at long last and gave a single shake of his head, unable to meet her eyes though she held his hand, pressing her right palm to his, looping their thumbs, and clasping her left over the back of his. "I'm taking sleeping potion again." He explained, his voice barely there, shaky, losing all confidence in broaching the subject, though there was no turning back. "And St Mungo's know," he hastily assured her, "They're trying to help me."
"Johann…" His mother whispered his name, pained, and as he glanced up to look at her finally, her face was distraught. Her hand found his cheek, smoothing it gently with her thumb.
"Why, sweetheart?""Because of father, but because I never really stopped. I'm so sorry, mother."
"What on earth are you apologising for?" Though her face conveyed sadness, the corner of her mouth had curled ever so slightly, recognition in her eyes from their earlier conversation.
"Anything, everything." He replied, as she had.
"Last November," he began "I was in St Mungo's for a week. I overdosed on sleeping potion while working late at the Ministry.
[9]" He could feel her hand clench against his. She had not learned he had been in hospital until he had gone back before new year to attend his great uncle's funeral, and even then she had known only the bare details. "It wasn't sleeping potion you can buy in the apothecary, it was sleeping potion from the hospital."
"How?!" The query was low, short, not angry, more amazed.
"I stole it out of desperation. I build tolerance to the conventional remedies. I thought I was being clever, I wasn't really myself." She shuffled in her armchair, keen not to interrupt. This was all news to her, though the insinuation had been there from Wolfgang. When he had spoken of it, she had really not wanted to believe.
"I don't remember getting to the hospital. Thankfully someone found me - I collapsed. Nor do I remember all of my time there, but I do remember thinking I would rather be dead than to go through it." The voices at their worst they had ever been, violent notions towards others, ranting and raving.
[10] It had been enough to thicken that file no end, and yet he remembered nothing until he finally slept what was considered a normal night's sleep and appealed for his release.
"By the time you saw me after Christmas I was doing a little better, I hadn't had any since being discharged. But after I went back with Ignan I was straight back on it before the new year. I can't cope without it." He shrugged and tugged ever so slightly at the hand she had, but she held firm, feeling that if she let go he would stop talking.
"And now?""I'm nearly back to where I was, which is why I've sought help."
Son's eyes met mother's, she was contemplating questions, gently caressing his hand with her fingers by his wrist. He was trembling as he explained. She wanted to sweep him into her arms and tell him everything would be ok, even if he was in his thirties and not a child. Oddly, he wanted that very much.
"And are they helping?" Johann drew an unsteady breath, looking down at their clasped hands.
"He's trying."
"He?""Oh," Johann replied, realising what he had done. "Healer Hollingbury. Arcturus. He treated me last November too." He swallowed and looked up at his mother, meeting her eyes and then dropping his gaze ever so slightly. "I promised him I would tell you what was going on. He says I need to tell people who will look out for me."
"He speaks a lot of sense it sounds." Camille replied and gave his hand a firm squeeze, mustering a reassuring smile.
"Have you been seeing him long?" Johann paused, the words on the tip of his tongue, which he swallowed down before revising his answer. It would not be appropriate to mention his closeness to Arcturus, she would know that he was a healer and nothing more, though perhaps a friend as time went on. It was complicated enough to tell her of potion.
"Just last week
[11], I'll see him again on Thursday. I went to see him back in January a couple of times too
[12]. The Ministry organised it. I cited ill health in my resignation
[13]." His mother had tried to convince him to change his mind, she and Gabrielle, and a number of others. He had been touched, but so unsure. His final week lay ahead. His next appointment with Arcturus would be the day before his last at the Ministry if he did not reverse it.
"I still think you should reconsider that, Johann… but I am glad they have sent you. Would you not have gone yourself?" "No." He confessed and shook his head, hiding momentarily behind his left hand, rubbing at his eyes. "Some days I don't consider my insomnia a problem at all. I can't convince myself. It feels entirely insignificant to worry anyone about, and then in the middle of the night it's an elephant."
His mother released his hand very suddenly, and drew his head towards her with both hands, leaving soft kisses on his forehead as she smoothed his hair, inclining over the gap between them to soothe him anxiously.
"I feel such a fool." She told him, grasping at his jacket to pull him over into a tighter hug, arms around his shoulders now. It wasn't hugely comfortable but being swept into his mother's arms with the familiar perfume and her soft skin made him feel protected, loved.
"Why? It was me who hid it from you."
"No because I did not do anything about it when you were little!" Camille exclaimed, clasping him even tighter.
"You were never good at sleeping, and your grandfather assured me you would grow out of it."For a healer,
Medgar Storm had been the least sympathetic to his first grandchild's condition. Camille had always considered him a little dismayed to consider his sole heir of the male Storm line was anything but bold and strong. Wolfgang had been much the same, telling her not to keep fussing, that he would grow out of it, that his father was right. Her own parents had suggested reading to him at length to settle him, heavy blankets, even sleeping beside him on the worst nights. They had been of more assistance.
"Grow out of it?" Johann echoed from somewhere against her bosom. He sounded more nasally suddenly. "I don't remember it being like this when I was little? I don't remember hearing voices?!" The closeness of his mother and her embrace had turned his fear and reluctance to tell her into tears of relief that he finally had.
"Oh Johann, my poor, poor boy." Camille replied and pressed her cheek against the crown of his head, rocking him gently. How could she not have seen this, not have ever asked him when he was older? She had been so worried for him, but had listened to her husband and father in law.
A first child, they had said,
overreacting.
Your second will be easier - she had certainly been quiet.
The two clung to each other for a while, Camille not elaborating any further, eyes screwed shut, regretting her actions. Eventually she let go of squeezing him so tightly he found it hard to breathe and he managed to wipe his eyes.
"What is it?" He asked eventually, confused at that sudden reaction and mention of his grandfather's advice.
"When do you see Healer Hollingbury again?""Thursday morning." His mother's eyes darted upwards, which he recognised was her consulting her appointments internally from memory. "You don't need to come with-"
"I know - I know I don't, I just think it might help, you see you were too young to remember." "Remember what?"
The exchange was hurried. His mother pressed her fingertips to her temples a moment, and then slid her glasses from her face to rub the bridge of her nose, considering how to explain.
"I used to catch you chattering to yourself when you were meant to be trying to sleep. You were holding conversations, but only one side. Lots of children have imaginary friends." Johann leaned back in surprise.
"
I didn't. Surely I'd have told you about one if I did."
"You stopped when you were a little older and began to read a lot." His mother explained with a shrug of her shoulders,
"I assumed you grew out of it. Why, when do you recall hearing voices? These aren't some sort of seer's voices, are they?" She folded her glasses into one hand, trying to understand, desperate to believe she had not overlooked something, but hindsight was rarely so kind.
"No, not seeing. They've never predicted. They just comment on what is going on, or interrupt my thoughts. I only started to pay them proper attention when I went away to school. They were company." His mother exhaled and turned away, drawing her wand to warm the tea again for another cup to calm their nerves.
Johann watched her interact with the tea tray, settling back into the armchair, and stop the tears. They weren't going to help explain. They were just over the relief of finally explaining and his mother's physical reassurance.
"Ar - Healer Hollingbury tells me I'm not going mad, but I fear I am already." He added quietly, a great worry to him.
"If you are, you'd doing a good job at appearing like you're not." His mother replied distantly as she added sugar to both cups on purpose before handing one over.
"Thanks." He uttered, not quite sure how to take that.
"Thursday morning?""Mm." He had taken a ginger sip of the hot tea, so nodded in response, the cup clasped in both hands again as he was still shaking.
"I teach. Do you think it might be rearranged, for the afternoon? I could come with you then?" Johann's eyebrows rose and he lowered the cup, steam rising around his features.
"I can write and ask, I suppose. You don't need to come."
"I do." His mother replied firmly,
"Especially if on Thursday there's no elephant." It took him a moment to realise what she meant, but when he did, he reached out to her to squeeze her hand.
"Thank you," He whispered, "I really mean it."
[Nov 14] Fall Apart & Start Again [Camille] [Snapshot]