Continued from The Ogre in his Tower

20 December 2011 @ 2pm
Godric's Hollow

Figaro erupted from a fireplace and was greeted by saucer-wide eyes and offended shouting. He'd seemingly interrupted a book club of day-drinking neighbors in someone's personal parlor. They shouted at him about, "wrong floo!" and demanded he, "pop off!", and then amongst themselves, "third time this month," and that they, "ought to owl the Floo Network office." Fig apologized profusely, bowed for some reason, and found his way to the front door.

Out in the quaint cobbled streets, he saw no sign of Dante. And it was like ten degrees colder than London and he hadn't brought his coat. He swore again, offending an old codger out for his shopping. Fig apologized and then doubled back to him.

"Wait - do you know where the Gamps live?"

The old man looked like he'd smelled some dead rotting thing.

    "Which Gamps? There's a whole mess of them here. Shameful people! You're not one of them are you?"

Figaro looked perplexed. "No! If I was why would I...? Ugh, c'mon, mate."

    "All that lot are down Church's End. Tell them from me, we don't need their kind here!"

Not bothering to thank the sourpuss, Figaro trotted off in the direction the old man indicated. It wasn't long before he found the street and was starting down half a dozen homes. There was nought to do but start knocking on doors.

With all of the grace of an almost thirteen-year-old with no grace at all, and who was not accustomed to floo travel, Dante García was launched from the fireplace in his Grandparent’s living room. He body smacked into the floor, rolling several times to cover the lovely cream carpet in a nice layer of soot. The young boy, too, also happened to be covered in a nice layer of soot. He took several moments to recover himself, stand up and ruffle 5 fingers through his hair. A thin dust cloud rained down to join the dirt on the floor. His Nana would clean it up when she came in.

Currently, the living room was empty apart from the twelve-almost-thirteen-year-old, and there was no noise elsewhere in the large house. No one was here yet. But they were coming. Dante knew that they were coming. Where else would his Dad go after the trial? His mum had already told Dante that he wasn’t coming home. Nana and Grandpa definitely would have been at the trial.

Suddenly feeling rightfully nervous, Dante tiptoed to look in the mirror above the fireplace. He made a pointless attempt the flatten the scruffy curls atop his head, and used his shirt sleeve to try and smudge soot from his cheeks. It only made it worse. A big huff, puff and a sigh later, and the almost teenager was leaving the living room and opening the front door. He would wait on the front step for his first glimpse.

What Dante saw when he opened the door was not what he anticipated. The movement at the end of the path caught his attention and he gripped the door handle, considering slamming it shut again.

“You followed me!” Figaro Bloody Sellaphix was making his way through the garden gate!

Figaro's frantic search ended abruptly and worry turned to relief and then very quickly to exasperation.

"What the hell, mate! You can't just -! Of course I followed you! What did you think! Augh!" Figaro put his hands in his hair and took a few steps in a circle trying to calm down. He couldn't believe he'd almost lost him. I mean, he was a dumbass little kid, where was he going to go? The list was short, but Godric's Hollow Fig wouldn't have just guessed. He'd have tried the Ministry first, then Witch Weekly, maybe the Daily Prophet, but Godric's Hollow. It was a wild guess to ask for the Gamp house.

He let out a long breath and closed his eyes.

"Whose house is this? Where are we?"

There was a loud crack, and three figures appeared just outside the gate, on the edge of the pathway leading up to the house.

It already felt like a very long day.  That was the part that he hadn't been prepared for: the rush that happened after the verdict, as the onslaught of well-wishers and onlookers rushed forward to try and see him.  After so long spent waiting -- the years in Azkaban, the months and weeks leading up to the hearing, even the long minutes when he'd sat with Enid waiting for the Wizengamot to come forward with their verdict -- suddenly everything seemed to be happening very quickly.

Working the crowd if they got a favorable verdict had been part of the plan that Enid had laid out for him.  Leo had done his best, up until his father Percival had finally put his foot down and interjected a stop to it all.  His mother had been bursting into tears at seemingly random intervals ever since the verdict had been read.  All in all, he felt a kind of relieved exhaustion to finally get out of the Ministry, to go somewhere under his own will -- even if not his own power, since his wand had long ago been snapped -- and let his father apparate them back to the home that he'd grown up in.

"We've kept it most the same," his father said gruffly, as he let go of his son's elbow.  His mother, wiping a tear, clung to his father's arm.  "Your room, I mean.  We got a few things together for you, just in case.  But we can see to whatever else you'll need, once you settle in."

Leo gave a tired nod as he turned back towards the house.  Right now, the thought of getting inside, of finding a quiet, familiar place where he could just be alone, sounded better than all the other promises of freedom and liberty that he could have --

He stopped short.  There were two figures up ahead, just outside the front door.  Behind him, he heard his mother's breath catch in her throat.  At first, he thought it might be the sort of thing that Enid had warned them about, that there were likely those in magical society that were not happy to see him walk free, but then --

Leo froze, his green eyes wide, as he stared at the shaggy-haired boy with large brown eyes staring at him from his parents' front door.

Why was Figaro even here!? The kid was going to gate crash his first ever meeting with his dad now! He’d totally ruined this quick change of plan.

“My grandparents.” Dante informed the older boy, exasperated. He stepped out of the door and started to pull it to behind him. “I…we’re meeting my-”

*CRACK*

Dante froze mid-sentence, staring at the end of the path where three figures had just appeared. His nan, her face tearstained, his grandpa looking decidedly serious, and, he recognised from the pictures his mum had hidden, his Dad.

Leo Gamp looked much thinner in real life. And paler too. But there was the shaggy hair, much shorter than Dante’s. Bright green eyes that were now staring directly at him.

Momentarily, Figaro Gate-Crashing Sellaphix was ignored, and Dante stepped past him, letting his feet carry him quickly down the garden path and through the tiny gate. He didn’t wait for a greeting or permission, and he didn’t care about the apparent adult who stood on the doorstep staring. He practically threw himself at Leo, arms wrapping around his waist in a tight hug that needed to make up for 12-almost-13 years.

“I knew you were innocent.”

Figaro turned at the crack of an Apparition and, again, was too slow in snagging a bolting eleven-year-old. Fig watched as Dante charged down the path and into the arms of Leo Gamp. The infamous Leo Gamp who'd just been exonerated by the Wizengamot. Estranged (to say the least) husband of the notorious and cougarly Queen G. And this little kid's father, a former prisoner of Azkaban.

The older boy stayed put by the stoop, unsure of what to do. This entire thing had gotten very out of hand very quickly and he was about as far beyond the Pale as he could get. Merlin, he had to be, what, like, a five-hour broom ride from Diagon Ally where he and the kid were supposed to be. Did this count, though? Gamp was technically his parent. On the other hand, the Prophet's coverage of Leo Gamp had been less than enthusiastic about the possible innocence of the disgraced Auror and Queen G's book, which he'd heard plenty about, was a dramatic demonstration of how Dante's mother probably felt about all this.

So all Figaro managed was to keep his distance and wave awkwardly at a father-son reunion he couldn't help but slightly relate to while he was doing the calculus of if he still had a job or not and if he'd just let a nine-year-old hug a murderer. His left hand he hand resting on the small of his back, close to the wand in his back pocket.

For most of the last dozen years, Leo had known nothing of his son's existence.  Dante hadn't even been a shadow in his imagination.  He might have dreamed once of having children, back before the war had come crashing to an ignominious end and everything in his life had fallen apart, but those dreams had dissolved into a gray, monotonous nothingness that matched everything else in Azkaban.

Of everything that Enid had done for him, bringing him knowledge of Dante had introduced the brightest light into his life.  For years, everyone that he'd known had conspired to keep the existence of his son from him: especially Genny, but even his parents, whom he was still not sure he was ready to forgive.  But suddenly, like a brightly colored ray of sunshine bursting through an overcast gray sky, there was something else that he ought to live for.

Leo stood there, looking stunned, as the boy that he recognized from photographs charged towards him and flung his arms around his middle.  A moment later, he'd dropped down to his level, throwing his arms around his son to hug him tightly.  He'd known about Dante's existence only since October, but it felt like they'd been kept apart for a lifetime.

"Dante!"  Leo heard his mother's voice behind him, startled out of her tears.  "How did you --?"

But another sound cut in -- his father hushing her, murmuring reassurances -- and Leo wrapped his arms even more tightly around his son, burying his face against the boy's shaggy hair.

Behind his dad, Dante could just about hear his Nana exclaiming, shushed by his Grandpa. But that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered other than the fact that his Dad was out. His Dad was out and he was here. Right here on this path outside his grandparents’ house. His Dad was hugging him tightly. He was real. Really here. Not just some ghost from letters and a few old pictures.

Dante’s eyes closed against the wizard’s chest as big arms held him close. He could smell a foreign musty scent mixed in with the new smell of his suit. He’d remember this forever, the moment when his Dad finally came home. When they finally got to meet.

After what felt like a minute or so, Dante drew back and looked up at the wizard he barely knew anything about.
“I wanted to be there, Dad. But he stopped me.” He waved a hand back at Figaro who was still stood on the porch like a lemon. A big silly lemon that followed other, sensible fruit through the floo network to gate crash on huge important family reunions. “You’re really here.” He repeated again, grinning. “I knew it. I knew it.”

Figaro couldn't help but be deeply and unavoidably struck by how watching a father reunite with his son made him feel. Ow, emotions. The situations weren't the same - Dante had never known his father, the media had painted his father as a monster - but that hug it was undeniably stirring. He stayed were he was feeling vestigial. Dante's grandparents had given him a funny look, but Figaro wasn't about to just leave. As heartwarming as this moment was, he was beholden to a higher power. Well, two of them.

The embrace ended and Dante wasted no time explaining why Figaro was there and not in the most charitable terms. Fig made a face, rolled his head and sighed. "Oh, come on. First thing you do is rat me out?"

He paced a step or two and scratched the back of his neck. He thought - hoped - he'd got somewhere with Dante, but no, first chance: betrayal. Also, great first impression with Queen G's husband.

Figaro offered a pained smile to Mr. Gamp and waved. "Figaro Sellaphix."

Dante finally pulled back, and Leo let him, although he still kept his hands firmly on his son's shoulders.  Even though he'd only known about his son's existence for just a few short months, this moment still seemed just as unreal as when the Wizengamot had rendered its verdict, when the cuffs around his wrists had fallen away and he'd been told he was free to go.

He was grinning from ear to ear too, just like his son.  He hadn't been expecting to find him waiting here, not so soon, even after Genny had assured him that she wouldn't stand in his way to meet Dante.

"I wanted to be there, Dad," Dante was saying, and Leo followed his gesture to look back at the sheepish-looking blonde teenager who was lurking on their steps.

"He should have stopped you," he informed Dante a bit dryly, though his brow quirked slightly as the older teenager made a comment about ratting him out.  Was there something he didn't understand about all this? "That wasn't a place that you needed to be." 

Not when Theodora Kingstreet was there testifying as a witness.  No, he wanted his son as far, far away from the Wizengamot's chamber as he could possibly get him.

Now, though, the cold stone walls of Azkaban couldn't seem farther away, and the shadow of Kingstreet couldn't touch them.  Leo leaned back, grinning again as he looked his son over from head to toe.

"Come on, we can finish our greetings inside," said Percival Gamp, as he began to usher them inside.  He cleared his throat, giving his grandson a carefully stern look.  "Dante, does your mother know that you're here?"

Should have stopped him? Dante’s eyebrows shot up behind his mop of dark hair. His Dad hadn’t wanted him there? What the hell? But he hadn’t wanted him visiting Azkaban either. Not like anyone would take him, anyway. They all thought he couldn’t handle it. They all thought he was too young. But he was handling this, wasn’t he? He’d managed to shake off his blonde lanky shadow long enough to make it here, hadn’t he? Did his family just have no faith in him?

Despite the joy at seeing his dad finally after forever, Dante looked slightly disappointed.

That certainly didn’t improve when his grandpa brought up his mum knowing his whereabouts. Oh crap. She’d freak out if she knew he was here. Literally freak out. But if he lied, that would be worse. At least he could see that logic.

Dante gave a shrug as he was ushered down the path towards Figaro and the house.
“She thinks I’m being babysat by Barney Crust Bucket at the Daily Prophet HQ. But he sent me for chips with Fig.” He told his grandpa reluctantly before glancing up to his dad. “I couldn’t just sit around waiting. I wanted to see you today. I knew you were innocent. You should be coming home with me, Dad.”

Small mercies. Leo Gamp, in Figaro's first interaction with him, seemed a decent fellow. More than one vindication this morning. He resisted the urge to snip, 'I told you so,' at the twelve-year-old.

He couldn't decide if he appreciated the grandfather for bringing up the mother. On one had, thank you. On the other hand would the force that was Queen G be as understanding as her recently exonerated husband. And then there'd be Cuffe to deal with. At least with Cuffe, Figaro could probably lay low for the next day or so. All attention was probably on the outcome of the trial rather than the editor's derelict babysitting charge.

Figaro crossed his arms as the family approached to go inside. Yeah, Figaro did not want to go inside. None of this was even remotely his business. He chanced speaking up.

"Yea, we should probably owl Queen - Mrs. Garc - uh," he hesitated not knowing how to refer to Queen G in front of Leo Gamp and the in-laws. "Dante's mum. She'll probably be looking for him in Diagon. And uh, yeah. I can run down and owl," he offered.

He thought he'd saw an owl post station on his way here.

If he had had any doubt before, it had quickly become clear that his precocious son took after his sharp-mouthed mother in terms of wit and daring.  Leo didn't bother to hide his smile as he grinned back at the boy, although his expression became tinged by a hint of sadness at Dante's last proclamation.  Behind his son's head, he saw his father and mother exchange a look.

You should be coming home.  But this was as close as he would get today: his parents' home, his childhood house, rather than the dingy flat that he'd once shared with Genny.  His name might be officially cleared now, but that wouldn't magically mend his broken relationship with his wife. 

The uncomfortable-looking teenager who had accompanied Dante to his parents' house stammered awkwardly, looking like he wanted nothing more than to apparate away.

"I'm glad you came," Leo said reassuringly, putting a hand to Dante's back as he stepped towards the front door alongside his son.  He barely spared a glance at the other teenager, but flashed him the faintest hint of a tiered smile.  "Yes, you'll go directly, won't you?  Let her know that he's safe."  Whatever he might feel about his wife, she didn't deserve sense of fear that would surely come if she went to fetch Dante and couldn't locate him. 

Figaro stut stut stuttered over how what to call Dante’s mum, and while the kid might have pointed it out at any other time, right now wasn’t appropriate. Dante was finally meeting his dad and Figaro Sellaphix was in the way. Now did he want his mum to be notified? Not really. She’d be straight there, fussing over how he’d taken off and been irresponsible. Then she’d freak out at his dad. She wouldn’t be happy. He knew that.

“Safe, and doesn’t need her rushing here.” He added to Figaro. She would rush because that was what mothers did wasn’t it? They worried. His mum, for all of her eccentricities and crazy alter ego, was a mother and therefore a worrier.

As if Figaro was now gone, poof, vanished, Dante turned to look up at his Dad. “Your room is just like when you were a kid, Nan says. She lets me use it if I stay over.” Which was rarely. His mum didn’t like him staying there, especially not in his Dad’s old room. In reality, it had once weirded Dante out too, back when he’d believed all the lied people had told about him. Now, the truth was out. Now, things could be normal and he could have a normal family. “It’s not very often, though. Just when mum’s got some big party to go to or something.” She still didn’t believe that he was old enough to stay home alone.

Relieved to have an errand to run that both fell within his capable skillset and would extricate him from a family reunion that wasn't his, Figaro made for the end of the lane at a trot and prepared to Apparate the rest of the way back into city centre. But then he stopped and turned around, realizing he'd just left Dante behind. Well, he'd left him with grandparents. That was legit. Even if things were rancid between Queen G and her husband, Dante was in safe, familial hands. Right? Shit. Famous last words.

He'd send the owl to Queen G, let her know where her kid was and he'd, what, wait outside until she showed up? What if she got back to the Daily Prophet before the owl got there, though? No Dante, red sparks, Aurors everywhere, blam, disaster.

Or. He groaned. He Apparated back himself and see if he could catch her before she and Cuffe realized Dante was missing and explain that Fig'd left her kid with Controversy Dad. Damnit.

With a heavy sigh, Figaro turned on his heel and Apparated to Diagon Alley.

Back in Diagon...

Figaro appeared in the street in front of the Daily Prophet back in London. He trotted up to the large glass doors and crept up to the receptionist.

"Hey, Queen G get back yet?"

Figaro continues in ... Medusa in the Temple