3 December 2011, a Saturday
Lunchtime at the Three Broomsticks

"No worries, I'll catch up later." Frank waved to his friends who were headed off to sled. He'd have gone with but earlier in the week he'd got a peculiar letter from his mother saying that 1) she'd signed him up to be in a children's Christmas play (okay. thanks.) and that 2)  she wanted to meet him for lunch at the weekend. The first part, Zelda orchestrating opportunities for Frank to get his head out of a book, wasn't entirely out of character. But the second part was new. She'd never come up to school.

He was trying not to speculate, putting every effort into pushing out worries that she was somehow possessed again or something. The letter had said not to worry that there was nothing wrong, so Frank was trying to take his mother at her word.

Frank hurried along the snowy cobbled street passing the shops all decked out for Christmas. He went past Puddifoots where he'd heard there was a special nude drawing class, past a cart selling spiced hot chocolate, past a horse-drawn carriage giving students a ride.  Zelda was waiting outside the pub under its snowy eaves. She was wrapped up in her long black coat, the new white streak in her hair standing out in the cold air. She smiled but looked nervous.

"Hi, mum," he said coming up.

Right on time. Zelda could always rely on her youngest for that, that and sniffing out when something was up. She smiled as he approached, her nerves tickling her stomach.  She and Rafe had discussed in length how to handle Francis. Figaro had been easy; Rafe had just shown up at his flat after work and come home piss drunk later that afternoon. Francis was going to be tougher. He'd been so young, he was up at school, had exams approaching.

"You're taller again," she said and gave him a hug. She touched his hair, noting he wasn't wearing a hat. At least a coat.

"Yea, that'll happen. Is something wrong?" he asked.

"No, nothing's wrong. I told you, nothing to worry about. Let's get inside..."  Zelda trailed off as she led the way through the heavy wooden doors into the blasting, fragrant warmth of the old pub. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust from the bright winter day outside to the dim light inside.

"Just back there," she said, pointing Frank to a table by the window.

So.
Damn.
Nervous.

Rafe was sat at the table in the Three Broomsticks, staring into his pint of butterbeer. He was starting to resemble his usual self after almost 2 weeks back home. Zelda had been over feeding him, he’d had his hair trimmed and his clothes had been magically adjusted to fit his prison physique (or so he called it). Shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and Rafe’s coat was draped over the back of his chair. Zelda was outside waiting to meet their son who had no idea that his dad was now free from Azkaban.

Every now and then, Rafe would glance up nervously to see if his wife had returned with their youngest. Less than a minute after the agreed time, he looked up to see her and Francis stepping into the warm cosy pub.

Now, Rafe had spent the last few days practicing his smile for when he saw Frank. Not too much for fear of scaring him off, but not too straight faced either. He’d rehearsed what to say. But that, upon seeing the barely recognisable teenager stood next to his wife made those words die on his lips. The well-practiced smile? That was replaced by a goofy grin and a few tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“Hiya son.” He muttered, pushing the chair back to stand up. Did he hug Frank? Would he accept a hug? Rafe wanted to grab him and hug the life out of him. What the hell was acceptable in a situation like this? There was no damned guidebook for it, that was for sure!

Frank didn't recognize his dad, not at first. He didn't even realize the wizard that stood was acknowledging him.  But he was looking right at him and smiling wide. Frank glanced over to Zelda who gave him a flat-lined smile. The man spoke. You could see the exact moment when the words sank it and Frank realized who it was.

For a moment he just stood there, face frozen in shock and staring trying to find the landmarks on the face.  In three years Frank had grown from 10 years old to 13. He'd grown half a foot! His voice was half an octave lower and his hair wasn't shock-blond anymore! He'd learned to use magic, he could bake macarons! He'd ... gotten detention. He'd ... moved on. And the man standing there, Frank didn't know him. But.

Frank took a deep breath, glanced at his mom, swallowed the lump in his throat, stepped forward and extended his hand.

"Nice to see you again," he said with the same smile his mom gave him.

A handshake. Okay. Different but okay. Rafe could handle a handshake. It was better than yelling and calling him a shoddy father for getting himself locked up.

Choosing not to make a scene of the handshake, Rafe took his youngest’s hand for a firm shake, nodding along. Figaro had been easy. They’d hugged, cried and got piss drunk. He’d always been close to Fig, despite the tension over whether he would take the shop or no. That thought was now long gone. Frank, however, had only been young when Rafe was arrested. He wouldn’t understand. And he’d always been so much more serious. Like Zelda. Zelda who was standing back to let him get on with it as if Rafe knew what to do. He had no idea. He needed her to step in because this kid was a complete stranger to him.

“Isn’t it just!” So very awkward.

“Come, sit. We got you a drink in. We’ll get some lunch and start getting to know each other again, hm? Mum says you’re doing great at school.” Rafe waved to the spare seat before dropping back into his own.

Frank raised his eyebrows and checked in again with Zelda. A drink? From the look on her face, she had more on her mind than how stiff the libations would be at this family reunion. Taking his cue from his mom, Frank peeled off his coat and had a seat at the table. He folded his hands in front of him and looked levelly at his 'old man'.

He'd thought a lot about what he'd say when this day came. He'd written letters dutifully when Zelda prompted them, but that was infrequent and the content dull and one-sided. A spell could have written them, really. But the day had come sooner than he'd thought and even though Frank had promised himself he wouldn't bawl or carry on, he couldn't remember what else he'd planned. He had to give his dad credit for starting them off.

"Yes. I'm quite scholastically inclined, it turns out," he said.

Normally, it was a task to get Frank Sellaphix to stop talking, but he found himself just letting the minimal response sit there in the open, naked and lonely.

It was the strangest feeling that Rafe Sellaphix was experiencing as he sat here in this pub opposite the youngest son he hardly knew. He’d always been a loving father, a present one who wanted to participate in every possible moment of their growing into fully functioning adults. But he and Zelda had taken risks. He’d paid the ultimate price. Azkaban hadn’t been the punishment; that had been not seeing his sons grow up. A quick apology would mean nothing to Frank now. Actions far outweighed words.

But now?
Now, that needed to talk.

Scholastically inclined? Scholastically? Had his son swallowed a thesaurus? Neither he nor Zelda had ever talked like that. Figaro certainly didn’t. He could have done with swallowing a dictionary, no doubt. Rafe nodded.

“Good. Good stuff.” Was that it? A big word from the thesaurus and the kid stopped talking? Rafe, rarely put off, ploughed on. “What makes you tick then, Frank? Potions?”

Zelda stepped away to get lunch on the way. She'd only be a few minutes.

Frank watched her go but dutifully turned his attention back to his dad. Unaware he was doing it, Frank began picking at his fingernails. He didn't know what to do and kind of just wanted to go.  Go back up to the castle and read or take a nap. He forced a polite smile.

"Yes. I like Potions." He hesitated. 'Just talk to him,' he chided himself.

"And I'm taking Ancient Runes now, too."

But it's not my fault this is awkward, he thought with a small grimace. With a big sigh he tried to put up the conflict. He noticed he'd started picking and put his hands in his lap.

"I'm good in Potions, actually. I think it's because I'm organized and make sure everything's ready first.  'Mise en place', right? Like cooking. Then you don't have to leave the cauldron and it's easier to clean up. More accurate measuring. Less chance of cross-ingredient contamination."

Frank suddenly had an uncomfortably happy memory of being six years-old in his Dad's workshop. Up on a stool at the work surface, wearing goggles, and carefully sorting the brown caer beans from the green ones. He'd really felt like he was helping. Now he realized his dad was just being sweet and making sure they could spend time together. Caer beans didn't need to be separated by color.

Perhaps quicker than anticipated, Frank began to speak a bit more unreservedly. Internally, Rafe delighted at the fact that his son seemed so engaged with potions. After years of hopelessly trying to engage Figaro in their family business, he’d given up on passing the reigns down to another Sellaphix. But here was Frank, happy to use potions as the common denominator to get them chatting again.

“You sound like your mum, Kiddo.” Rafe chuckled, leaning his elbows forward on the table between them. “Just wait ‘til you start deciding to adapt textbook recipes. Not every author’s correct, you know. Best stuff I’ve brewed is with my own variations.” He gave the kid a wink and took a swig of his drink. “Mum says you’ve been helping out in the shop. Been reorganising. I like it.” He hadn’t liked it. He’d had a mini grumble about not being able to find a blasted thing until Zelda had pointed out it was Frank who’d done the tidying. Rafe had quickly changed his tune. It was one thing his wife messing with his ordered mess, it was another when his youngest son bothered to help.

This was just the moment Zelda reappeared and Rafe avoided her gaze to stop him from laughing.
“We’ll have to get you sorting a few more things at Christmas.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Frank's mouth; Rafe's pride and affection was landing on a boy who'd been fairly determined to not require it. But Rafe was singing all the right songs, tunes that Frank didn't realize he'd need to hear. Improving on potions? Together? Zelda had promised to show him the family recipes at some point but it was always too busy, or he was too young. Maybe now that Rafe was back...

"Not the Caer beans, though," Frank said.  Zelda had returned with food and drinks. Frank went for the chips. He pawed a pile onto his plate made liberal with a curry sauce for dipping.

"But maybe you could teach me the Wideye?"[1]. "The one in our school book is rather basic, but I think that's only because they don't want the fifth years abusing it for OWLS and because seventh years were snorting billywig stings."

He looked at Zelda and shrugged. "It's what I heard. I don't participate."

1.	The Sellaphixes have their own version of the Wideye Potion

Rafe let out a roar of laughter at the mention of snorting billywig stings. Frank turned to his mother to obediently inform her that he had no part in it, while Rafe shot her a quick knowing look. He had been no angel in school, and he was still no angel. Billywig stings had nothing on a couple that had indulged in an evening on gillyweed now and again. But that was okay, Rafe knew how to grow the best stuff.

“Good lad.” he tapped Frank’s shoulder and sat back, continuing to chuckle happily. Rafe was comfortable again. His son was older, taller and cleverer, but he was still his son. It was clear to tell the influence Zelda had had upon the boy in the years that Rafe had been gone. He was more serious than Fig, and clearly more interested in keeping out of trouble, too.

“Of course, we’ll go through the Wideye, kiddo. As long as you’re not planning on using it for staying up all night.” He jiggled his bushy eyebrows before grabbing a handful of chips and popping one in his mouth. So much food since he’d come home. Zelda appeared to be working on fattening him up like a pig heading for the slaughter. His clothes would be fitting far more snuggly soon, he was quite convinced.

Frank looked down to keep from showing a small smile at having made his dad laugh. It was louder than he remembered and far louder than anything going on in the pub at the moment. It wasn't bad though. None of this was bad. On paper, it was good. It should feel good too. It just didn't, not yet, and Frank wasn't totally ready anyway.

He ate more fries. Feeling happy felt like it would mean forgetting what his dad had done ... to them... He sighed and looked back over, pleased that his dad was going to teach him. Christmas couldn't come soon enough now.

"Actually, you don't have to stay up all night if you study properly," Frank said, parroting advice from an older Ravenclaw. "Read your notes again before dinner, break up big assignments into pieces, don't study with loud people."

Frank stopped himself, realizing this was not a topic for Dad Out of Azkaban Surprise Lunch.

"What happens now," he asked, changing tack. "Do you have to do anything, you know, with the Ministry of Magic."

Rafe didn’t stop grinning as Frank spoke. It was a silly grin. Broad, happy, proud. His son, his son, Frank Sellaphix, the clever son, was telling him all about reading notes and breaking up assignments. The sort of thing Zelda probably did. The sort of thing that Rafe and Figaro definitely hadn’t. He loved it. His son, telling him his studying methods with such certainty and confidence.

Unfortunately, Frank seemed to be done talking about his education, and asked his dad what he had to do now. The smile faltered. Heck, it almost vanished. He maintained some of it and had a swig of his drink.
“A few meetings.” He nodded. “I’m helping out with the runespoor stuff, if I can.” He muttered quietly before putting a finger to his lips. “Hush hush.”

Frank's eyebrows lifted, a misunderstanding hope welling up. He sat up straighter and looked fully at his dad so it completely missed the pointed look from Zelda at her husband.

She shook her head and sat back. Rafe was just going to confuse Frank. It didn't need to be more complex than, 'your dad got out early isn't that lovely life moves on.'. And discussing anything to do with Runespoors in front of their youngest? Big mistake. Figaro? Maybe. But things were complicated with Frank. He barely knew anything. Before all of this, all he knew was that only bad men went to jail. His world had been torn up and he'd tried to re-arrange it. This wasn't going to help.

But any knowing looks going on between his parents, Frank didn't see them.

"You're helping on the investigation," Frank whispered, his brows furrowed in thought. He'd been in awe a moment before, but suddenly things weren't adding up. "They must have realized you shouldn't have been in Azkaban," he tried.

"And that you can help find the real culprit."

Zelda had to step in. "That's enough. We shouldn't talk about this. Here."

Frank may have missed the look from Zelda, but Rafe didn’t. She clearly wanted to keep it from their youngest son, Rafe wasn’t so keen. It made him wonder what Frank knew about why he’d ended up in Azkaban to start with. He’d only been 10 then, too young to understand any of it. Zelda’s look only served to make Rafe feel awkward. What could he tell his kid? The reality was that Rafe didn’t know his youngest son anymore, and Frank didn’t know his dad. Not really.

"They must have realized you shouldn't have been in Azkaban," The hopeful boy began, "And that you can help find the real culprit."

Shit. Well yes, he’d totally walked into that like the great bumbling fool that he was. Zelda jumped in, for which Rafe was grateful.
“Mum’s right. Always is. Bit public, kiddo.” Rafe winked at his son and glanced to his wife. Marriage rule number 1: The wife was always right. Especially if the wife was called Zelda.

“Ye’re gonna be home for Christmas soon anyway, Frankie.” Not that he’d be telling him anything, if the look Zelda gave him was anything to go by. We’ll need a good shop hand in that week before the big day.”