nicksfantastic-blog - Tumblr blog

nicksfantastic-blog · 11 years ago

Text

What He Lost || In Loving Memory of the Vitor Family

It wasn't one of those things you expect.

It seldom ever is.

The beginnings of war were evident in the Wizarding and Muggle world alike, but not in a million years would he have guessed that this was a wholly plausible result. No, a consequence.

A consequence for ignoring the warning signs. Passivity. Foolish, idiotic passivity. The kind that influenced the nonchalance he picked up the phone with. "Hello." Caller I.D. He forgot to check the bloody caller I.D., like he always does.

"Nick." Their tone is throaty and hoarse, filled with a million equally shed and unshed tears. "Nick, I have something to tell you."

He recognizes the voice, listening past the evident heartache. "Robyn? Robyn, what's wrong?" His words are strewn together in a mangy mess. Whenever she phones, it's rarely for pleasant cause, and not only is she calling—she's sobbing her poor, fragile heart out as well. He takes a deep breath. A brave intake. A valiant exhale. "Does it—? Is it your brother?"

Her response is a strangled cry, and he winces, nearly feeling it rip through her throat himself. "No," the brunette murmurs, repeating it once again for good measure. "I know this is difficult. Tell me what happened. Cryin' isn't helpin' me. I don't understand, Robyn. 'm sorry."

"Dead, Nick. Fucking dead. My brother's dead."

"No. No, no, no, no, no. Why? What? How?"

"I don't have the full story. The neighbors said some Ministry men came 'round the manor. Artie let them in, and next thing... Screams. Blood-curling screams."

I should be crying right now.

Yes, he should be crying right now.

There's a question clawing at his insides, and it takes him a moment or two to fully comprehend what's being said, in order to filter what he wishes to ask. "Robyn? Robyn, you said the manor. I don't wanna ask; even so, I must. I reckon you have an—."

"They're gone, Nick." Her tone is a whisper, as if she's frightened of admitting it or telling him or just him in general.

That does it.

Nick begins his mantra of "No" once more, gradually lowering the phone from his ear as his head finds refuge against his fist. He wants to slam it into the wall until he bloody bleeds. This is Hogwarts, though. He can't hurt or weep or kill with a surge of people constantly around, and for the first time, the school's social atmosphere pisses him off and

Where are the damn tears?

Oh. Here they come.

Somewhere in the back of his brain, he registers Robyn's shrill voice, reciting his name in such a way that any poet would sit and wait for her to get her point across. She needs to know that he's all right, that she hasn't completely broken him (albeit unintentionally), that he'll be perfectly fine after the funeral...funerals. He isn't. She has. A part of him will never be 'okay' again. He's too afraid to tell her this, scared he'll run her off and lose his best support system in this case. Perhaps not best... Although, he must care for Robyn's well-being in respect to her brother. Hogwarts hasn't ever resembled a job in his eyes. Healing her is a job.

The back of Nick's head collides roughly with the wall as he slides downward, flat onto his bum. If he's less conscious now than beforehand, he cannot tell the difference.

"Artur. Antía. Alfie. Alfred Vitor."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fall, 2003

There's no way two dolts from any year will opt to take him under their wing, shield him from the sheer embarrassment of being paired with the professor for the second time. He's attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for three weeks—three whole weeks—and he is already a teacher's pet. The other kids tend to sneer at him, claiming that he's earned his marks thus far through favoritism when (1) the Ravenclaw most certainly does not and (2) they're the ones who put him in this position in the first place. Perhaps one stupid ape will crawl out of their cave, free themselves of their shackles, and think to call dibs on the Charms professor. However, they know just as well as Nick that they don't fancy that option.

The eleven-year old sighs as he feels the hand upon his shoulder, vying for his attention. Without a word, he stands, gathering his belongings in preparation to sit at the instructor's desk. Another gentle tap comes while he settles the satchel around his neck, and he peers up in hardly detectable annoyance. After all, this is an adult who should be revered as such.

Or not.

Two slightly older students—a boy and girl second year, to be precise—block off his path to the professor's area. Petty things like physical altercations don't happen at Hogwarts, yeah? Surely not in the plain eyesight of an authoritative figure.

"Hey, kid." The boy grinds out, fiercer than anything Nick has ever heard from a young person. Inadvertently, the first year gulps.

When he fails to answer, the girl speaks, becoming visibly agitated with her overly-expressive partner, who is making it his mission to huff and glare and narrow his beady hazel eyes. "Hello. Nick, is it?"

Finding her much more tolerable, Nick nods in reply, automatically outstretching his palm. The girl takes it and grins at him, followed by her somber partner. Her countenance is bright and captivating as she relays, "Nice to meet you, Nick. I'm Antía. This is Artur. We were wondering if you'd like to work with us. Our usual partner, Toby, is hospitalized in the infirmary until further notice."

Artur pipes up, "Basically, d'you want to work with us or not, geek? Think fast. And keep in mind that you were not our first choice."

"You're a Slytherin; I'm a claw. Rumor has it, your kind eats mine for breakfast."

In a snappy manner, the boy bites back, "Didn't you hear? We prefer lions to feather, flyin' wimps these days." They definitely aren't going to be best mates. Nick carefully watches Antía scold the dak-haired boy for his behavior using her eyes, making his decision almost simultaneously.

"Yes. Yes, I'll work with you."

Antía and Artur turn out to be the smartest, kindest, warmest friends he's ever had.

And, in time, Nick and Artur do become the best of mates.

Spring, 2010 (Graduation Day)

"Are you seriously wasting your wizarding education to live in the Muggle world?"

Nick rolls his eyes, removing his trunk from the fourposter. "Not wastin' anythin', me. I'll live like a Muggle for a bit, just to see what the fuss is about."

"Aye, what fuss are you hearin' besides the bad stuff?"

Both boys—men—burst into laughter, eyeing one another and portraying similar emotions: happiness, joy, relief, and tamed sadness. For seven years they've been dorm mates, friends for six, and teammates for four. It's over now. No more staying up late to play Wizard's Chess, or fantasizing about the future because this is it. They are men. They are full-blown wizards. They are ready to face the real world and all its strife. They are prepared in ways they wouldn't have imagined seven years prior. It's partially due to this, due to being with each other for so long. And now they must grow apart. They will reluctantly leave one another behind, to collaborate with the next great life instructors.

"Hey—."

"Don't say it, Nick. Please don't."

The laughter has vanquished. Nick can hear the ink from the other's quill drop to the floor if he listens closely enough. "What do we do, then? Do we ignore it like the others?" Their rommates were packed and out the door without so much as a farewell before the pair arose. Neither of them desires that ending for a friendship, or better yet, dependence, this important, and they've been skirting around it for hours, since the Graduation Feast.

"You're real infuriatin' sometimes, Smith. No, we don't do tha'."

"Are you ladies done?" A calm voice drawls, drenched in blandness to match the speakers expression. "Artie?" Nick inquires, a manic grin taking over his previously dim countenance.

"Nope. A stranger."

"C'mere, you." Nick lunges into the other man's arms, and they accordingly wrap themselves in an awkward-looking yet comfortable cocoon. Feeling equivalent to a third wheel, Nick's dorm mate excuses himself from the room, to no objections.

"What're you doin' here?" Nick chuckles as his friend ruffles his hair. It reminds him of the old days, when neither man understood how to properly express compassion. He recalls the hair-mussings, rough pats on the back, and, worst of all, the ear-tugging that often made him ticklish.

"Oh, please. I heard my best friend was graduatin' and I hurried my arse on down here. Didn't wanna see the inside of this place again. You were worth it. A smile onstage couldn't have turned anyone off, by the way," Artur hints, in a singsong tone.

"You were there? You were watchin' me?"

"Me and Tia, yeah. If you say you didn't expect her, either, I may have to strangle you."

Nick's cheeks flush and he shrugs apologetically, rubbing a palm against the back of his neck. "I won't admit it. Where is she?"

"Not here."

"No shit. Were you frightened at the possibility of her publicly proclaimin' her love for me? 'm legal now. She can have a proper turn." At Nick's joking wink, Artur scoffs, shaking his head. "Maybe. There's also a chance she's runnin' off her mouth about weddin' plans."

"Ah. For who?" And then it dawns on him. "You sly arse. You proposed? Without me?"

"Wasn't aware it required you to be considered proper. Besides, you wouldn't have wanted to stay for the aftermath," the other insinuates cheekily.

"Tell me everythin'."

"You sure you don't wanna catch up with your girlfriend? He seemed upset about me muckin' up your moment."

Insisting that they had not, in any way, shape, or form, been having a moment, Nick kicks his trainers off and sits crisscrossed on his soon-to-be former bed, motioning for Artie to do the same.

Needless to say, his "girlfriend" still hasn't received his well-earned goodbye.

Summer, 2010 (The Vitor Wedding Day)

"Here comes the bride, all dressed in white!"

"For the last time, Nikolai, shut the hell up."

The pair is bickering before a small crowd of spectators; namely, the guests who have arrived early in order to have their selection of pews.

"Not my fault you have weddin jitters, mate." Nick fixes Artur's bowtie, giving him a suggestive look. "Still think she belongs with me?"

The joke snaps the other back to reality, and he comes down to Earth once more, snickering merrily. "'Course not. She loves me. I love her. We're gonna get married, and there's nothin' you can do to stop us."

Satisfied with the answer, Nick gently slaps him on the chest. "Good. Keep that in mind until after you say "I do". We don't have time for doubts right now."

"Thanks. 'm not allowed to have doubts at this point."

"Not if you want her to trust you. That's how you're able to stealthily make my future godchildren."

The look on Artie's face is panicked. There's a secret, a huge secret, and the weight of it is about to make him explode. "Future? Funny story..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This time around, it isn't Nick singing the wedding songs. The piano player is keying the notes perfectly, the guests humming along respectfully. Bridesmaids and groomsmen walk forward in pairs, separating at the alter to stand in their predisposed places. Nick stands directly beside Artur, whom he successfully calmed down almost three hours ago. The former's eyes are glued to the open doors, awaiting the woman in the white dress.

It feels like an eternity has passed once everyone is settled, and the guests slowly start to rise. Nick hears her entrance before he sees her, what with the guests gasping and Artie's sharp intake of breath. All he can do is cease his laughter.

Antía is beautiful, that's for sure. He didn't expect any less. Her hair is wrapped in a bun, curled, lengthy strands of loose hair falling on her cheeks. She doesn't have on much makeup, yet she looks flawless all the same. Her dress is simple and elegant, just like her. Just like how Mrs. Vitor's dress should be. His friend has done a good job picking his life mate. These two are going to be together forever.

A sudden state of euphoria washing over him, Nick leans over to offer some last minute encouragement:

"I can sorta see the baby bump, mate."

Fall, 2010

Artur caresses his cheek, glaring at his best friend. When he removes it, Nick knows there will be a large, red welt where he'd smacked him, and rightfully so. "What do you mean you didn't call a bloody doctor?!"

"I mean just that, Nick!" Artur growls. They're prepared for a shouting match, only pausing when Tia's screams reach their ears.

"This is your fault. No meds. No hospital. You're lucky her mum is a nurse. What were you thinkin'?"

"I was thinkin' 'm not ready to be a father," the other whispers honestly, tears streaming down his face. "I wasn't ready to be her husband. A fuckin' shotgun weddin', Nick. I wanted to try and stop this. When I couldn't stop it, I ignored it. I ignored her, and I ignored my son, and 'm a terrible person.

Nick takes pity on him, although he is still visibly upset. Glaring, he orders, "Come here, you right arse." Artur walks forward and finds comfort in his friend's arms, resting his head on the former Ravenclaw's shoulder. "You've a right to feel this way. But you should've told me. I love you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dark-haired man is laid out on Nick's lap, cuddling Nick's old teddy bear. Nick is halfway asleep himself when Antía's mother enters the living room, a relieved smile on her face. They'd called a doctor in to help her hours prior. Hoping it'd been a successful delivery, Nick arches his brow in question. She nods quietly. "Thank Merlin." The brunette gently slides from under his friend's weight, setting the other's head on his stuffed bear.

Tia's mother leads him up the stairs and into the Vitors' bedroom, where her daughter is snoring loudly. "She's exhausted," the doctor comments, nodding toward the cot beside the bed.

Nick cautiously nears the crib, looking into it with piqued curiosity.

There rests the most gorgeous child he's ever seen. He has a head of curly black hair, and his eyes are hazel like his mother's. The infant smiles, something Nick takes pride in despite the fact that he knows his godson can't see him properly yet. His skin is cocoa-colored and the entire structure of him is flawless. In that instant, he realizes his friends have crafted a miracle.

Nick leans into the cot, lifting the boy into his arms. The child makes incoherent noises, and Nick still grins wildly, as if he's telling him a secret that he can fully understand. "Hi, buddy. I'm Nick." He glances at the baby's grandmother. "What's his name?"

"Alfred," she informs him, her voice barely above a whisper. "Alfred Nikolai Vitor."

Without missing a beat, Nick mutters to the young child, "C'mon, Alfie. Let's go meet your Daddy."

Fall, 2012

He isn't expecting any visitors. Why should he be? He spoke to the Headmaster earlier in the day, making sure to meet all the professors and teaching assistants in the same timeframe. Teaching hasn't commenced yet, so no students should be looking for him.

As much as he wants to dismiss the knock on the door and go to bed, he thinks twice about the possible consequences and vigilantly answers it with a prompt "Hello." Perhaps this is a test, to see if he'll respond to people in need.

"Nick!" Antía squeals, crushing him in a vice hug. Okay. Not what he was anticipating. He recognizes Artur and the growing bundle in his arms as well. "Not that this is unwelcome," he begins as she releases him, "but does the Headmaster know you're here?"

"Oops." Artie shrugs, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Stow us away, Nick. We snuck in to see you. Since you failed to tell us about you gettin' this job."

Groaning, Nick lets them in without further hesitation. "I could get fired for this. On my first day, too!"

"Please. I'll take the blame. Say we were holdin' you hostage," Artur tries. Nick shoos them off to the couches, taking his friend's bundle away before he can protest.

"Hey, you threaten my livelihood, I get to hold the kid." Hearing the familiar voice, Alfred awakes in Nick's arms, squeaking in glee as he grasps the man's cheeks. He murmurs a few words, 'Ickie" being the most prominent. "Is your kid insultin' me, Tía?"

"No. I believe that translates to "Congratulations, Nick"."

Two days ago (Alfred's 4th birthday party)

"What'cha doing?"

Nick laughs warm-heartedly, eyes roving over his godson. The child has grown so much in the past two years alone. He is now a fourth of his mother's height, and his hair has morphed into a curly little afro. He's afraid of cutting it, so Tia uses a headband to keep it off of his face.

"Playin' a game on me phone." Nick hands Alfred the device. The boy isn't surprised; he merely says a childish "Thank you, Nickie," and proceeds to toy with it. Nick, on the other hand, is shocked. His parents are Pureblooded. What does he know about Muggle games? "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters quietly, studying Alfie in all his toddler glory.

Naturally, the child pays no mind to his question, presenting the other with several of his own. "Why aren't Mummy's and Daddy's pictures here? Why are my pictures here when Mummy's and Daddy's aren't? Ooh! Is this Rose?"

He raises the phone until it is in Nick's line of view. "Mhm, that's Rose. D'you find her pretty?"

"Dunno. She's got cooties. All girls have cooties."

As if thoroughly contemplating this statement, Nick makes a noise of recognition. "Right. I'll be sure to bring her over and let her give you her cooties, then." He winks, and Alfie protests, but the cries are drowned under Tia calling for the guests to gather around and sing "Happy Birthday".

Before Nick can teasingly say, "Go ahead," Alfred is up and running back outside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"D'you have to go, Nick?" Alfred's eyes are large and pleading, his lower lip quivering. He holds the man's hand in an equally gentle and vice grip.

Nick squeezes back. "Yep. I have to be at school in the mornin', mate. Other kids need to see me, too, just for different reasons."

Alfred pouts, face turning red. "I don't want them to see you! I wanna see you all by myself. Me and Mummy and Daddy all do. Live with us."

This isn't the first time he's heard this request. He hasn't figured out how to answer it without Alfred crying, though. "I can't," he says solemnly, ruffling the boy's hair. "But I love you, okay? And I'll see you next weekend. I promise."

"Otay." Nick lifts him into his arms, giving him the warmest bear hug he can muster. "I love you too, Nickie," Alfred whispers, wiping away his tears and kissing the man's cheek. "See you soon."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That.

That is what he lost.

An entire family.

And entire livelihood.

Love.

He lost love.

"Artur. Antía," he repeats, miserably. "Alfred Vitor. My little man."