Eddie Carmichael (edasich) wrote in disorderic, @ 2018-05-25 11:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | eddie carmichael |
WHO: Eddie and Emilia Carmichael
WHAT: A chat
WHEN: A few nights ago, probably
WHERE: Emilia's flat in Knockturn
"Eddie." He pretended not to hear. He studied the old glow-in-the-dark stars that still stuck on the ceiling above his childhood bed. He had taken such care to replicate real charts; rulers and exact measurements to scale. On nights he couldn't sleep, he picked a new section to memorize. It was comforting and familiar and unchanging. It was the only place in Knockturn Alley he could see the stars. Growing up, his favourite constellation was Draco. (He was displeased, then, when in his second year some poshy blond kid showed up at Hogwarts and tried to claim that name as his own.) He studied it with fascination his first year in Astronomy. He could still name every star. Edasich, of course. Giusar. Adib and Grumium. Rastaban. "Eddie, are you coming out to eat or what?" He didn't even know why he was here. He could lie in bed and stare at the ceiling in his own flat, or with Alicia. He should be with Alicia. Or he should be at the hospital, waiting with Robin, waiting for Rolf or Fred or Lee or any number of others. "Edasich Lyle, you don't get to come back into my house just to ignore me." The door swung open, but Eddie still didn't move. Emilia paused, waiting for the normal insistence on privacy or the stomping and sulking that used to accompany such breaches through his door. When nothing happened, he took a few hesitant steps into her son's room. "You're acting strange." Eddie's eyes stayed on the stars above, but his whole body moved with the sigh that escaped him. "Alright. Come on, sit up, make room." Emilia didn't wait for him to move his feet before pushing them aside so she could sit on the end of his bed. With another reluctant, dramatic sigh, Eddie pulled himself up to sit, crossing his arms over his knees and looking at his mother. "You don't have to hide in here if you want to be sad." "I'm not hiding," Eddie said petulantly. "And I'm not sad." "And you're usually a better liar than that, child of mine." Emilia pushed a bit of hair off her son's forehead, but Eddie pulled away before she could finish the task. "It's alright to be sad, you know." "Oh, Jesus, not you, too." "What's that?" "I don't want to hear about how I'm allowed to mourn him from people who couldn't be happier he's dead," Eddie insisted. "That includes you. Besides. I'm fine." But he couldn't hold the skeptical look she shot him and moved to stare out bedroom's tiny window instead. "Whatever." He could still feel his mother's look of sympathy (or was it pity?) and it made him squirm. Then finally, softly, she said, "He doesn't deserve it, Eddie." “Mam.” “Edasich.” He cocked his head and looked back at her petulantly. “That’s a pretty shit name you saddled me with for the rest of my life, given that everyone you tried to impress with it’s dead before I hit 20.” "It's unique," she said, unfazed. "But I mean it, kid. He made his choices, and he got what was coming to him. You've tied yourself in knots over him for months. And now you're back here hiding away to grieve." "That's a bit of a left turn from 'it's okay to be sad,' isn't it, Mam?" But Emilia just shrugged, so Eddie scowled. "Besides. I'm not grieving, I already said. What kind of a person would be grieving a dead Death Eater right now? After Harry Potter just saved the fucking world again?" "Eddie…" "I'm fine." "Right, sure, you're just fine. You're not sad, you're not hiding, you're not grieving … is there anything you are, tonight, or is it all just what you're not?" Eddie didn't respond right away, burying his chin against his knees and not looking at his mam because this wasn't solving his problems, either. "He was mad at me, right before he died," Eddie finally offered. It was the smallest corner of the thing, but one he couldn't stop thinking about. "Or not even mad, really, just—" He laughed suddenly, bitterly, as he realized what he was about to say. "Just disappointed." His mother put a reassuring hand on his arm and kept listening. "And if Owen Dearborn really did kill him, well, I mean I know he deserved that. I know what he did and I know he would've kept doing it and it's better for the world or whatever if he's gone, but—" Eddie felt very small, then. "But things were broken and now I can't fix them." Emilia let out a long breath. "Well. Come on, then. Dinner is waiting." "Wait," Eddie looked up, confused. "Really? After—aren't you going to tell me it's okay, or he doesn't deserve it, or it's alright to be upset, or … something?" "You've already made your feelings about all that quite clear, child of mine. Besides," she said, getting to her feet. "I can't fix that. What I can do is feed you. And make sure you brush your teeth and wash behind your ears. Come on. Up." Eddie got up with some reluctance, but when he was on his feet, Emilia wrapped her arm around his shoulder in a reassuring half-hug. "It'll just take some time," she said. "You'll be alright." He let her say it because despite it all, he did want to hear it, because if he heard it enough he might start to believe it, too. |