Hunter slouched against the couch feeling the sun hitting his face. His father was reading A Midsummer Night's Dream by William Shakespeare beneath their Lone Tree. He snickered inwardly, unable to comprehend that Severus Snape was reading a romantic story.
They had breakfast consisting of buttered toast, bacons, fried egg and baked beans. Hunter had a glass of ice milk while Ezra had a cup of coffee. The man was never officially awake till he has a cup of coffee. They had late breakfast as the both of them slept in today after a tiring yesterday.
Yesterday, they went for Ezra's physiotherapy. Hunter felt sad watching his father struggled through the therapy. The effort and energy the man poured into the therapy just to make Alec's life better. Oh the regrets that filled Hunter since the accident was tremendous. He saw pain contorted the man's face. The man was able to lift up his feet a little. Hunter knew it'll take time for the man to walk.
After the therapy, they headed home to rest seeing that Ezra was worn out. Then, they went out to get groceries and prepared a simple dinner before retiring for the day.
"--unter! Hunter! Hunter!" Called out Ezra snapping his fingers in front of Alex's face. The boy broke out of his reverie and smiled sheepishly.
"Are you okay little one? You were out of it for a while. I was worried." Asked Hunter's father with concern.
Hunter nodded, "Yeah. I'm okay. Just thinking about stuff." Ezra raised his eyebrow, "What were you thinking about?"
"Hogwarts and life," replied Hunter.
The man gave an 'ah' in reply and nodded in comprehension. They were sitting in silence for some time. The birds were chirping overhead and the sound of the pages being flipped could be heard. Alex broke the silence asking, "You miss it, don't you? Hogwarts. Potions. Draco, your godson."
The man being questioned looked up and hesitated before replying, "I do. I miss everything. I wonder how Draco is doing. I miss brewing potions. Being free. Doing magic at Hogwarts."
"Me too. I miss Hogwarts. It was my home. My safe haven. I miss my friends. I always wonder how are they doing. I also miss Sirius even when I know that he doesn't remember me. I just miss him. How I wish I could write to him," said Hunter.
Ezra's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Black's name. The boy was still unaware of his death. It has been two months since his death. Holidays is just around the corner. How is he going to tell the boy? Perhaps after the holidays.
Hunter's eyes squinted as he saw his father tensed at the mention of Hogwarts and Sirius. He pushed it to the back of his mind thinking perhaps his father missed Hogwarts and despise at the mention of Black.
The silence took over the atmosphere. The two of them sat in silence minding their own business when Harry interrupted, "Dad! I wanted to ask you. I heard there's a new literature professor that joined Central City High School. Who is it?"
Severus looked up from the book he was reading and said, "Ah yes. Professor Enrique Vasquez. He's the new Literature Professor and he takes his profession seriously." Harry raised his eyebrow in question. "What do you mean?"
"Vasquez rarely talks to anyone, except when he is ordering his assistant and protegè."
Hunter curled his lips upwards and nodded. He heard from Jesse and Andrew that Vasquez was more of a bastard. He was cold and rigid. Always expecting more from the students. Mocks students of their work. That description somehow reminded him of the once Severus Snape before the man saved him.
Putting down the book he was reading, Ezra could that sense something going was on in Alex's mind.
"Earth to Alec. Pray tell, son: care to share?"
Alexander only gave him a questioning look, "What?"
To the reply, Ezra shook his head, "I know you're thinking of something. What is it, Alexander?"
The boy shrugged and said, "Nothing."
Ezra took a sip off his cup, "You know you can tell me anything."
"I know that," Hunter said with a sigh, "May I ask you something, Dad?"
"Sure," Ezra answered readily.
"Do you hate kids?"
Ezra's eyebrow lifted, only to answer the question with a wheeze, "Why, I most certainly do not hate you."
The boy took a bite of his toast, and drank a mouthful of milk to down it. As he finished swallowing, he said, "That's not what I'm asking about. And," Hunter added sharply with a glare towards his father, "I'm not a kid."
"Really?" Ezra asked, eyebrow still arched. He puts on a face that says 'Well, if you say so.' Hunter was so easy to rile up; like a flare, he retorts back just as hotly- ill or not. Once a Gryffindor, Ezra thought, always a Gryffindor.
To this, Hunter bit his inner cheek, "Yeah, well, that was a stupid question. Nevermind."
Ezra only gave his son another short look and went back to his reading.
A few moments later of silence, Hunter sighed. Ezra looked up from his book and went back to it the moment Hunter did not seem to do anything.
A few more moments and Hunter sighed again, deeper than the last.
Ezra shook his head. What now?
"Hunter," Ezra said with reprimand in his voice.
The boy looked at him and smiled slightly.
But Ezra was not swayed. He gave off a slight frown, "Stop sighing. It is making me uncomfortable, as you well know."
Again, his son nodded mutely with a smile. Assured, Ezra went back to his reading. But not before long, Hunter sighed again.
"Alex, are you sure you are fine?" Ezra's brow creased in worry for his son. The cannula on the boy's nose was not bothering him, right? Was Hunter out of breath again? Did them going to therapy at the hospital tired the frail boy out? Hunter does not seem to be pale, nor did his lips turn blue.
Another sigh. Ezra was being driven mad by his son's incessant sighing.
"Alex, please- what is it?"
Hunter snapped out of his reverie, turned to his father and bit his inner cheek, again. He was dreadfully bored; it did not help that Alice was taking the day off. Ezra deserved a rest, in the company of his books. Hunter wanted to do something, anything! But his Dad does not want him to be tired. Hunter does not feel like reading. He wanted to do something else.
"Does anything hurt?" Ezra asked again, and Hunter shook his head.
"Alright," Ezra put the book down and faced his child, "tell me, will you? It is simply making me mad, Alex!"
Hunter was about to sigh again, but a stern look from Ezra halted it. Hunter bit his lower lip instead.
"I'm..." Hunter began, but he shifted from foot to foot, darting his eyes around the house. He doesn't want to bother Ezra! Never!
"Alex, please--"
"Alright, I'm sorry! I'm just... Bored, is all. Sorry."
It was Ezra's turn to sigh. Dear God, must Alex be always hesitant to tell him things?
"Nothing's wrong with being bored, Alexander- you are a hormonal teenager after all. You are bound to feel restless. Now, what is it you want to do?"
Hunter shrugged, "Dunno."
"Now, look, Alex. We can't remedy this by keeping things to yourself. Think, son; what do you want to do? Nothing strenuous, if you would be so kind."
Hunter looked at his father for a long, long time. Ezra did not dare break contact in case the boy might start sighing again.
"I want to... Write?" The boy looked at him, questioning. Ezra nodded.
"That is a good exercise for the brain. Go to our room- no peeking inside compartments, please- and go get papers and a pen. Both are on the topmost drawer."
Ezra gave him one of his 'Dad looks' and Hunter nodded. At least his Dad was being indulging for once.
Hunter stood and went to their room, opened the topmost drawer, revealing his father's papers and pens. He started to gather a handful of papers and took three pens. He was about to close the drawer when something caught his eye.
It was a small dent on the drawer, and a small scrap of paper can be seen sticking out a little bit. Hunter felt his curiousity rile up. He was about to grab it when he heard his father calling him. He took one last desperate look towards the paper and rushed down upon hearing the call of his father.
Maybe he could sneak out once Ezra was asleep.
Immediately, Hunter crushed the idea. Well, no. Maybe not.
Back at Hogwarts, Ezra always, always caught loitering, explorative students who, like Hunter, liked the thrill of being out in the dead of the night. Ezra was a spy. That was saying something.
But something was telling Hunter that it was more than just a scrap of paper, so much so that it was important enough to be put somewhere important to Ezra, like his drawer.
Ah, suspicions. Hunter shook his head and sauntered off outside, to where his father was. The heat of the sun was bearable once Hunter sat beneath the shade of their Lone Tree. Before he settled to write, Hunter took one last look towards his reading, always focused father.
Was it possible that Ezra must have purposefully folded the paper and inserted it within the drawer?
It was simply put there, as if it was to be concealed, but put in such a way that it would not seem a suspicious object.
Nevertheless, Hunter bit the end of the pen that was currently in his hands and swayed his mind into thinking about what was the best subject to write about. As it was, the world was so wide, full of so many interesting things, and Hunter was not sure which one he would focus on.
Hunter let his thoughts wander as he thought of what to write. He never really took writing seriously before. He only wrote because it was needed for school and legal documents. But Humter always had an overactive imagination, as it was his only solace back when he was with the Dursleys (the thought of his beloved family, whom Hunter hasn't thought of in such a long time due to the sudden events that took place during this school year, made him grimace internally. They were simply the worst kind of Muggles there is; even the thought of them made Hunter's skin prickle) who took every ounce of excuse to make Hunter suffer for making their lives miserable.
That's it! Suddenly, Hunter felt a good kind of warmth travelling to his palms, up to his palms. Hunter, with his pen and paper, let his mind and creativity break free. That is, he began to write a story, about a boy who had the misfortune of being blamed for so many things that he hasn't done by his relatives. A tall man who had took pity on him brought him to a new, magical world that was full of new and exciting things. There, he met two great friends; a girl who liked to read books too much and a boy who likes to eat a lot. There was also another boy, who rides toads and can talk to plants. There was also a wise cat, who likes to watch the moon on roofs and a small, small person who can make trinkets and objects levitate. Hunter named the character Henry, and Henry's father happened to be living in that wondrous world. The said father had black wings and long hair, and loves to cook all day. Henry's father liked books, too, and reads while drinking coffee.
When it was time for lunch, his Dad told Hunter to go and get it ready, as he would wheel himself in.
After lunch, Hunter eagerly went back to his story, stopping only when Ezra would engage him in conversations.
Ezra took notice of Hunter, who was still furiously writing. It was as if the boy's hands felt no strain. When asked what he was writing, Hunter only gave him a shy smile, saying that it was nothing.
"It's just a story, Dad. Nothing you should fuss over about," Hunter said with a grin, then eagerly went back to writing. Hunter seemed to be glad about it though, as he would sometimes smile while writing.
"May I see it?" Ezra pushed.
At the askance, Hunter shook his head, not even looking up, "Will let you see when it's ready."
Ezra sighed, defeated. He was just glad that the task, while it took Hunter's attention and time of the day, made the boy's cheeks' colour return and his eyes shine a bit brighter. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a good distraction.
Hunter worked through the tale until dinner, then decided that he had enough for the day. He talked with his Dad about everything and nothing.
They both climbed up to their shared bed at nine o'clock that evening. They both did their routines, and Ezra offered his arm, where Hunter gratefully took as an invitation and heeded happily, exhausted but please ith himself. Before Hunter was fully taken over by the spell of sleep, he remembered the paper, folded neatly and tightly.
What was that paper containing, anyway? Hunter only yawned. He was tired, but happy that he finally had another thing to do. He was looking forward to finishing his story. He rubbed his eyes and nestled himself within his father's protective arms. That paper mystery could wait for another day; Hunter's curiousity was not easily quelled after all. Hunter shut his eyes, and let himself dream of Hogwarts, his friends, and of Magic.