Painted Windows ((Dylan))

[Williard Thoth R4]

He hadn't spoken or even uttered a word in six whole, entire days; and today wouldn't be any different, and it pained him. He was supposed to return to Hogwarts tomorrow and he needed a few things from Diagon Alley. But six days had passed since his parents fought, and for six days his mother never left her bedroom, and surprisingly, Williard never checked in on her.....never asked if she were hungry, or if she needed anything. Everyday he just walked passed her bedroom, and never even bothered to knock. He hated acting this way to his mother but he was angry, and he just couldn't bring himself to pretend as if he wasn't. His father....his best friend was gone because of her. Because of her mistake......because of her cowardice. As far as Williard was concerned, as much as it hurt him to feel this way, she deserved to feel everything and anything that she felt at the moment.

The house was so quiet. A silence that Williard was now used to, knowing that nothing would ever be the same form now on. He tried so hard a few days ago to imagine everything as it once was; the three of them laughing and joking, planing trips, cleaning together, cooking together, talking.......all of it seemed as if it were years ago and not a just a mere week.

Williard jumped.

Did he imagine it? But......he felt a vibration. He quickly sat up and looked out of the living room window, and there was the deep green car.

"Dad," he breathed. He cleared his throat and slowly stood up disbelieving. He didn't think he was coming back. He went to make a move for the front door, but then he heard clumsy foot steps come down the stairs and turned in surprise to see his mother frozen there on one of the lower steps looking pathetic. His heart sank. She was wrapped up in a sheet, her hair was all over the place, and she had make-up running down and smeared all over her eyes and face. And....she was looking at Williard. Her eyes glistened and her bottom lip quivered. She looked as if she wanted to speak, but Williard couldn't look at her any longer for fear of crying himself. He hurriedly walked passed her and out of the front door. He thought he heard her speak faintly......thought he heard his name just before he closed the door behind him, but didn't turn around to acknowledge it. He couldn't.

His father had just got out of his car and turned around, smiling as Williard walked up to him. When he got close enough, he saw his father's smile fall, and he knew why; Williard looked like rubbish. His eyes were swollen and red, his hair was long and messy, his clothes were wrinkled.

"Oh Anu," Ptah said pulling his son to him, though, he didn't need to as Williard had rushed him. "I am so sorry about this." He fought back tears as his father hugged him tightly; Williard was twelve, soon to be thirteen. He was getting older and had to toughen up.

"You have nothing to be sorry for Dad," he said stepping back. "You did nothing wrong."

"I was selfish. I was so caught up in my own hurt that I didn't think about you." This was odd to Williard. He frowned his face in somewhat confusion. "I left when you probably needed me the most. Perhaps I should have taken you with me. I'm sorry." Williard thought about this; he would have loved it if his father had taken him with him to wherever he went. But before Williard could have another thought, his father turned his wand on him, and Williard felt a warm wind swirl around him, but only for a few seconds. He didn't need a mirror to know that his hair was no longer messy, his clothes no longer wrinkled, but straight and clean, and his eyes even felt a bit lighter. Now that he thought about it, he himself felt lighter; and then it occurred to Williard that his father had more than likely used a calming spell on him.

"So.....what are you doing here?" Williard cleared his throat. "Did you come to talk to Mom?" As upset as he was with her, he still couldn't hide the hope in his voice.

"No. I'm not ready to do that just yet. I'm here to take you to Diagon Alley, actually. I know you need to get some things.....new robes, refills on potion ingredients. But, I also wanted to spend time with you before you went back to school. Come on, get in the car." Williard obeyed feeling the happiest he had felt all week.

Though his heart was soaring, he couldn't help but notice how his father had tried to be his normal self, and failed at it miserably. He tried to start conversations, but it just wasn't the same. He tried to tell stories, but he couldn't; not like he used to anyway. But he overlooked everything; he was just happy to be with his father. They reached the Leaky Cauldron, and quietly walked inside.

"Hey, do you wanna grab a drink to go before we head into Diagon Alley?" Williard nodded his answer, and the two walked up to the bar counter and sat on stools. "What do you want?"

"I could use a Firewhiskey," Williard said as serious as he possibly could. His father looked at him for a solid fifteen seconds before bursting out in laughter, and he couldn't help but do the same. Williard loved his father's laugh; it was so loud and slightly raspy that even if they were separated in a crowd full of people, Williard could spot it. He was proud of himself, mainly because he knew his father probably hadn't laughed since the incident. Neither had Williard, now that he thought about it.

"Alright, I know it's cold and snowing outside and all, and Firewhiskey would warm you up considerably, but you still have five years to go on that. Hot chocolate will do for now. Firewhiskey.....," he said turning to rest his arms on the counter.

"I'd recognize that laugh anywhere Ptah Thoth," said Tom walking up smiling. "What can I get ya'? And hello, Williard."

"Good afternoon," Williard said with a half smile. Tom's eyes lingered on Williard for a second before he turned to his father expectant.

"Two hot chocolates to go please," Ptah said reaching into his pocket.

"On the house," Tom said walking away nonchalantly. Ptah shook his head. Williard involuntarily turned around and studied the room; he couldn't help himself, he loved people watching. Then, his heart felt like it sank to his pinky toe. He quickly turned back around.

"What is it?" Williard didn't answer. His father turned and and when he was caught in a dead stare, Williard knew he had seen him.

Williard had almost completely forgotten that Dylan worked at the Leaky Cauldron, and apparently, so did his father, as he had turned around and begun working his jaw muscle. He looked as if his mouth had gone completely dry.

"I'll be back. Wait here with the drinks." He looked at his father as if he were completely crazy, but said nothing. As his father walked in Dylan's direction, Williard kept his gaze forward, waiting patiently for his hot chocolate.

[Dylan Caoimhe]

It was snowing outside, and the twin windows in his room that stood side by side were both fogged. And yet, he could still see huge, blurred snow flakes fall leisurely to land wherever they may. Today would be a busy day; it had been a busy couple days actually, seeing as how students were gearing up to return to Hogwarts tomorrow and needed to get to Diagon Alley to pick up whatever they needed to pick up. Dylan himself had decided to do any shopping he needed to do a few days ago in an attempt to be smart about the situation.....well....it was Tom's idea, but he still took credit for actually listening he guessed. That's all he had been doing for the last few days; listening. He happily and gratefully took orders from Tom, and he did them to the best of his ability. It felt nice to have someone else tell him what to do, how to do it, where to go.....All he wanted was for someone to take over him.....control him. That way, he wouldn't have to think, and so whenever thoughts of what happened did surface, which was practically every hour, he could blame Tom for not occupying him enough. He knew it was mad of him to handle the situation like that, but he excused himself of the insanity of it. He slid on his apron and tied it around his back. "Another long day," he said leaving his room. He wasn't complaining; in fact, he welcomed it.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Excuse me young man, may I have a slice of lemon, please?"

"Sure," he said serving the older man his tea. "I'll be back in a minute." He went into the kitchen, took out three lemons, and sat them down on the cutting board. He pulled out a short, sharp knife and began cutting away.

He was proud of himself. He was on top of everything today. All of his customers got their drinks and anything else that they wanted in good time, and Dylan had been doing very well in tips, considering that people needed to shop. He lightly pushed the lemons together and put them in a small bowl. He grabbed an even smaller plate, and put three slices of lemon onto it. He hurried back out into the pub to the old man's table. "Here you go, sir," he said setting the small plate down.

"Thank you so much," he said scooping up a lemon slice and popping it into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows and smiled approvingly, and then removed it from his mouth. "That's good, me boy." Dylan nodded and gave a small smile.

"Dylan?"

He turned around, and felt his face drain of color. He involuntarily swallowed, and started to walk toward a small group of ladies that had just walked in the door.

"Dylan please....."

He stopped. There was something about his voice that was so......comforting. He noticed this that night. Hearing him kind of plead like that was almost unbearable to Dylan. He turned around and looked at him in his face......a face much like his own....or the other way around rather. Ptah worked his jaw, and Dylan felt heat rise in his forehead and neck, for he did the exact same thing and often whenever his mind swam with thoughts. "What?" He didn't mean to sound harsh....it just sort of came out that way. He felt as if he didn't know how to handle himself, and he hated it.

"I would like to talk to you. Please."

"I-I'm work-"

At that exact moment, Dylan glanced at Tom, who was behind the bar, and he nodded at Dylan, as if he were giving him permission. Dylan frowned, but then came back to the situation when he saw Ptah hang his head. "A-Alright. Follow me," he said swallowing. He would lead him to his bed room. That was the only place that he could think of that would be private enough. He walked a lot slower then what he normally did, mainly out of disbelief. Was this really happening? Was this man really here? Was his father....his actual father walking behind him right now? Dylan felt blood rush to his nose and ears; signs that tears were coming, so Dylan breathed, and straightened up. They reached his door, he unlocked it, and then let Ptah pass him and go inside. He wanted so bad to just shut the door and go back to work and pretend this never happened, but fought the urge. He went inside and closed the door behind him.

They stood there looking at each other. It made Dylan uncomfortable, mainly because he could tell that Ptah was taking in every inch of him, and Dylan was doing the very same thing, though not on purpose. He was searching for physical similarities, which were abundant, and shocking to him. For so long he had wondered what his father looked like......and finally, they settled on each other's eyes, and neither could fight it anymore. Tears streamed down both their cheeks.

"I am so.......so sorry."

"Don't," Dylan said, balling his fists. As much as he hated admitting it to himself, sorry was exactly what he had wanted to hear, though he knew it wouldn't make up for anything.

"I.....I don't know what else to say to you. If I knew.......I would have.......I would have kept you."

"Kept me?" He knew he shouldn't be offended, but that comment made him feel like a dog, or some stupid pet.

"You know what I'm trying to say. I never would have allowed you to be in some orphanage if I knew. Never." Dylan fell silent. Ptah was angry, and didn't hide it in his voice. "I love Williard with everything that I am. Being a father........having a family is so important to me.......it's everything to me. You have no idea how much it hurts me......knowing that I have had a son all these years, and I never even got a chance to bloody hold you when you were born.....look into your eyes.......care for you.....raise you......teach you......love you....," Ptah choked. Dylan felt a rush of fresh tears come to his eyes, and he let them fall. He meant it. He could tell. He had never had anyone speak to him like this before, and reluctantly, Dylan too felt sorry for not having had Ptah around growing up. Everything that he was saying was exactly what the little boy inside Dylan wanted hear, and it made him sick. "I cannot take back what Sarah did, or anything else." He hesitated but then pressed on. "But.........I want you in my life. I want to be apart of yours. I understand your older........damnit, your practically grown. But........now that I know you exist, and that your here......I just ......I can't walk away from you." He looked as if he didn't know what else to say, and Dylan was thankful, for he was painfully fighting back sobs.

He didn't know how to respond. There was a mixture of emotions on Ptah's tear streaked face. He wasn't angry at Ptah. Dylan didn't know him, but somehow, he just knew that he was a good man. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't even mad at Sarah. He somewhat understood why she did it; she just wasn't ready to be a mother. He swallowed, and probably for the first time in his life, he spoke from his heart. "I-I...." Dylan stopped and took a deep breath. "I don't know......what the hell I want right now. I don't know what to feel, o-or how to act. All I know is that, I want to be alone, and that I need to get my head together, and-"

"Dylan, take time," Ptah said wiping his face. "I think a lot of people need time to themselves at the moment. I didn't want to come here and get you upset, or force you to make any decisions. I just wanted......" Ptah was at a lost for words. He held up his hands, and walked to the door. He grasped the handle, and apparently stopped, as Dylan didn't here his door open. Dylan turned around, and Ptah was staring at him, his eyes as glossy as he had ever seen them. He launched forward, and the next thing Dylan knew, Ptah was hugging him tightly. He cringed. He wanted to shove him off, but he relaxed, and found that he didn't want him to let go. "Sorry," Ptah said backing away. This time he left, and Dylan stood in his room, hating himself for wanting to follow behind him.....

[Williard Thoth R4]

"Here you are, son," Tom said setting two lidded paper cups of hot chocolate down on the bar in front of him.

"Thank you, sir," Williard said nodding and sliding them closer to him. His father had been gone for a few minutes now, and Williard still hadn't turned around since seeing Dylan earlier. How could he have forgotten about him when Dylan was probably at the very center of the problem? And it hit Williard again; Dylan was his brother. His older brother......big brother....he didn't know quite what to call it because he still hadn't accepted it yet. It wasn't that Williard didn't like Dylan, it was very much the opposite. He supposed it was just the idea of he and Dylan being brothers that seemed so....impossible. And yet, it was true.

"It's not the end of the world you know."

"Huh?" Williard wondered how long Tom had been standing there. Did his mind really wander off that far that quickly?

"It's really not that big of a deal. It all depends on how you look at it." Before Williard could ask what he was talking about, Tom pressed on. "You know, your mother is a good woman. I don't need to tell you that. She has an exceptional head on her shoulders, and if what she did all those years ago was the best decision for her at that time, then I support her fully."

Williard blinked back his shock. How had Tom found out? Had Dylan told him about what happened? "But-"

"Williard, let me finish," Tom interrupted. "Sarah wasn't always the level headed, look-at-things-from-all-angles type person that we both know her to be. She was young, and albeit slightly selfish and narrow. She couldn't help but think about how a baby would affect her life, as oppose to the other way around. There was so much happening for her.....your father as well. Good things too.....all their hard work was paying off." Williard fought the urge to argue. Tom seemed to sense this. "No matter what your father says or how he feels, the fact of the matter is that there was no way that they could have taken care of Dylan back then. They just didn't have the means of doing so. I suppose your grandmother could have been an option......"

Williard laughed. He knew all too well that his mother would never have allowed Annabelle to raise any child of hers. He had a sinking feeling, and he knew why, and suddenly somewhat disliked Tom for doing what he was doing to him. "Don't be upset with your mother, Williard. They never would be where they are if she hadn't have made the decision that she did, not that her career was the reason behind anything, of course." Williard sheepishly nodded. "I can't tell you how much she is hurting right now just because of Ptah alone. She hurts a hundred times more because she knows your hurt as well. And not to mention Dylan," he said picking up a wet glass and drying it with a cloth. "There is only but so much anguish a person can endure before they break. And merlin knows your mother has cracks." Williard thought this an odd comment, but before he could ask, his father had returned.

"You ready? Oh, thanks Tom, again. For everything." Tom just nodded and saluted them both in farewell. "Come on, Anu," he said picking up his cup of hot cocoa. He had been crying. Williard could tell. He wanted to ask what had happened with Dylan.....what exactly had been said between the two of them....but he knew he should probably wait, or not even ask at all. Thinking of inquiries, Williard remembered Tom's last comment.

"Uh Dad........Tom said something about mom." His father didn't look at him, but instead kept walking toward the familiar mass of brick. "He said everyone had their breaking point.......and that mom was already cracked?" His father's wand stopped just short of the enchanted wall.

"Well......I......she is in a state right now-"

"I......I really don't think that's what he meant," Williard said, searching his father's eyes. But, for the first time, he saw nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. For the first time, he couldn't read his father's eyes.

"I think that's a conversation for a later date, Williard."

Williard?

He never called him by his first name unless he was in trouble, which was rare. He bit his bottom lip and hung his head as his father opened the gateway to Diagon Alley.

"So was is it that you need?"

Williard didn't look up. He continued to stare at the ground, fighting back tears that threatened to fall. Things were so messed up and uncomfortable. Nothing and no one were the same as they used to be. His father had the most sensitive brown eyes, usually reflective of how he felt. He supposed he saw now where Dylan got his ability to make his own eyes seem cold and almost dead of all feeling. For the first time ever, Williard couldn't read the situation, or the people. It was as if everyone who were once crystal clear and shiny were now foggy and murky. He felt as if he were trying his very best to see through painted windows; which he knew was fruitless, but still couldn't help but try. He just wanted his old family back.

"Williard? I asked you a question?"

Williard. There it was again. His father wasn't in a right mood. Williard blinked his long lashes quickly and smiled. "Uh, I guess we could start at Madam Malkin's. I've grown a bit. Quidditch, I suppose." This was his last day with his father before he went back to school. He would try his best to make sure that they both had a good time; or as good a time as was possible.