1245 hours. Carstairs Household, Maida Vale.


"We're home!"

The front door slammed shut just as he flicked his wand to send Virgil's school trunk through the small foyer of their narrow house and up the winding stairs. It was his eldest son's first summer home from Hogwarts and the sunny weather felt like a good omen; but just as he thought this, strolling into the living room with a hand on Virgil's shoulder, a horrible wailing cut into their peaceful arrival.

Edgar turned, going straight to his wife when she joined them from the kitchen carrying Cecil[1]. Barely five years old and, unlike Virgil, noisy as a disgruntled mongoose.

           "He won't stop!"" Angela despaired, nobly allowing him to blow his nose on her navy silk dressing gown.
"Oh Cecil!" Edgar murmured soothingly, taking the boy from her, "What's the matter, hm? Dragon pox getting you down?"

Indeed, the child was positively green and mottled by spots. Their other children had gotten it too when they were younger, though never this severely. The potion from St.Mungo's wasn't taking effect yet. Cecil buried his face in Edgar's shoulder, still crying. A proper tantrum, the sort he hadn't had since he was three!

"Come on, come on," he carefully rubbed Cecil's back. "Let's try and get some sleep. Do you want to sleep?" A violent shake of the head followed by a pained howl, because he'd rubbed his face sore against Edgar's linen jacket by doing so. Poor poppet

1.	Cecil Carstairs - Virgil's younger brother.

            "May I hold him? Please?"

The couple stared in surprise: Virgil was sitting on the chaise lounge, holding out his arms worriedly. Typically, the boy wizards hated each other, albeit never with any real venom. But he looked earnest and even a little funny; his blonde hair was still stuck in all directions from falling asleep on the Hogwarts train, and his sweater was two sizes too big.

"Al... alright." Edgar kept the doubt out of his voice, slowly leaning over to see if-- yes, Cecil quickly threw his little hands around Virgil's neck and hugged him hard. "Careful," he added before he could stop himself.

Virgil didn't say anything but rested against the sofa and held the back of his brother's dark  head as he stared into space.  After a few moments - Edgar and his wife awkwardly watching - the crying withered into quiet sobs. Then heavy, laboured breathing. And finally the sublime silence of sleep. Cecil went slack in Virgil's arms.

            "You can take him now," Virgil whispered, sounding rather tired as well.. "He's dreaming about pumpkin toffee apples. And bats."

Angela stepped forward and gracefully gathered their youngest into her arms before giving Virgil a kiss, and disappearing upstairs to put Cecil to bed. The house was peaceful again. Edgar collapsed into his armchair, running a hand through his hair.

"That was very good of you," he remarked. "I hope you know that."

Virgil yawned, wiping his eyes. "I just wanted him to shut up," he slipped off the chaise lounge and strolled into the kitchen with a parting declaration:  "I'm having a slice of the cake you bought me!"

Edgar snorted - nobody had even mentioned cake. He continued to sit, unconsciously staring into the unlit fire grate. Angela's footsteps sounded on the stairwell. Cutlery clattered in the kitchen. A neighbour's cat was harassing the pigeons outside. Was Virgil lying? he wondered. It was getting hard to tell how much was truth and how much was bravado. He tried to banish the thought, just in case it was gleaned.

            "Here you are." the boy in question appeared at his side with two plates of vanilla chiffon cake. The plate he handed over had two slices: one for each parent.

Edgar smiled softly.