Chapter Twenty-Seven | Hogwarts, January 1960

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Hogwarts, January 1960

           The world seemed duller, as if the colours had been drained and whatever was left faded. Silas stood on the platform, holding Violet's hand, wondering how he could ever act normal again.

"Please stay a little longer," Violet begged. "Please Sy, just – just another week."

Silas wanted to, he really did – but if he stayed, he doubted he could find the will to return to school. "I'm sorry Vi, but...I just can't."

Sniffing, Violet launched herself at him, holding on tight. "But you're coming home?"

Shocked, Silas held her tightly. "Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"I thought maybe..." Violet glanced behind her, at Anthony, who was talking in a low voice with another adult. "Maybe you're too sad at home."

Suddenly choked up, Silas shook his head. "It's okay to be sad, Violet."

"Are you sure?" she asked earnestly. "I don't think Mamma would want us to be sad."

"Not too sad," he agreed, "But you're allowed to be sad, and to be happy too." He gave her a reassuring smile and hugged her once more. "I'll write you lots, okay?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Anthony walked back over then, looking exhausted. "You ready?"

"Yup." Silas plastered on a smile.

"You don't have to go," Anthony reminded him for the umpteenth time. "And you can come home whenever, if you feel the need."

"I know, Pa."

It felt as if there were a rock in Anthony's throat. His son seemed to have aged so quickly in the past two months, and he hated it – Gwyn's goal had always been to maintain their youth and innocence for as long as possible. Trying to compose himself, he pulled Silas into a firm embrace. "I love you." He whispered, closing his eyes and just pretending that they had gone back in time, to a year ago, when only Gwyn knew of her illness. Or even to when Violet couldn't even walk yet,

"Love you too, Pa." Silas pulled away, gave Violet another hug, and scrambled onto the train.

Silas felt an odd sense of déjà vu as he watched the forms of his father and little sister grow smaller, specks made of gold and honey. Without Gwyn, he stuck out with his dark hair and wild features. A lot was different now, but Silas was trying to function, to just get through each day. Gwyn would have wanted him to at least try.

~*~

Transfiguration was one of Silas' favourite subjects, but for the past two weeks of classes he had been unable to focus. It was obvious Professor McGonagall could tell, but she made no note of it – until Silas turned his mouse into a snuffbox before she could even begin her lesson.

"Mister Lacroix," she said as the bell rang, "A moment, please."

Silas slouched over to her desk, where she was tapping her fingers against an ancient schoolbook. As usual, a cup of tea she had made before class had grown cool as she forgot about it. "I'm really sorry, Professor." He slid his gaze from the floor to her face; surprised to see her usual stern expression had softened.

She leaned forward, entwining her fingers. "Silas, have you been practicing your spells outside of class?" she paused. "Before I even assign them?"

Sheepish, Silas nodded. "I just...I can't focus in class, and when I'm outside of class I need a..."

"Distraction." Finished McGonagall, dipping her chin in a brief nod. "You know Silas, I too lost someone close to me. They did not die, but when a relationship is lost...distraction is necessary sometimes."

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