Characters: Caradoc Dearborn Date: October 23rd, 1999 Location: Rhosson, Pembrokeshire, Wales Rating: PG Summary: Caradoc goes to pay his respects. Status: Complete
The news had come by owl nearly 20 years ago. Actually, Caradoc could remember it down to the day when that owl had swooped into the kitchen over his tea and scone and dropped the parchment in his lap. 18 years, 2 months, 17 days. That long ago when a part of him crumbled apart and died, and took another shred of his soul.
Awstin and Corina Dearborn, loving parents, devoted couple, honest and strong murdered brutally in their living room. Details were sketchy, but Corina had died first, tortured in front of Awstin in hopes that watching his wife screaming under the Cruciatus would get him to spill his secrets. As that didn’t seem to work, they slit her throat and made sure Awstin watched her gargle and struggle for air. Torturing Awstin didn’t do much else, and later authorities found him crumpled on the floor, dead of the Killing Curse, looking half-drowned in the pool of his wife’s blood on the hardwood.
What had they died for? They weren’t even entirely sure at the time, but it was to protect their only son. They died keeping the secret of where their son had gone, despite not knowing why their son was running at all. The Death Eaters had invaded their home and murdered them in hopes of pulling out the location of the runaway rebel Caradoc Dearborn.
The owl that had come in that August 7th had been one of the worst experiences of Caradoc’s life. It had been from his Uncle, informing him that his parents were dead, and he had enclosed the Prophet article about it. Murdered, they confirmed. Related to the disappearance of their wanted son. Caradoc Dearborn wanted for questioning, a suspect in the murder of his own parents.
He had burned the article, after nearly destroying half of Alexandre’s house in a fit of devastated rage. His worst nightmare, come to pass. His parents, dead because of him. Dead because of his choices, because of what he had chosen to do with his life. Dead protecting him. He couldn't even go back to pay his respects, the moment he did he knew he'd be ambushed or worse.
The murder was never solved, and Awstin and Corina became nameless statistics in the body count of a war they weren’t really even aware they were in. Their Cardiff home was cleaned out and sold, the Dearborn family essentially erased from the neighbourhood. They were buried by Awstin’s brother, in a secret location, away from prying eyes. Caradoc was not told where, no one was told where, so at least their resting place could be left in peace.
Caradoc never had forgiven himself for the death of his parents, and he knew he never really would. He had chosen to be an Auror, he had chosen to be in the Order of the Phoenix, and it was his actions that slowly led to the unravelling of him, and the Death Eaters coming for him. He had escaped to Romania, and in his absence, they had paid the price for his choices.
The worst part of it all was there was never time to say good-bye. Caradoc had run from the UK, one day living in Wales, the next gone, a hand-written note to his parents telling them not to worry being the last correspondence he had had. He had implored them to come with him, to leave the UK, come to Romania and settle there while the conflict in the UK raged on. They wouldn’t leave the home they had built, the home they had started their family in, raised Caradoc and lived out their lives. They asked their son to stay. Caradoc chose to go, and the last time he had seen his parents, he had left his mother in tears, and his father trembling with worry that their son would quite possibly never come home. Caradoc had felt it was the right choice, the only choice, and then less than 4 months later, they were dead.
Caradoc kept hope that his parents didn’t blame him, that one day those stories you hear of light on the other side were true. His parents would greet him on the other side, and he could apologize, and they could be a family. He could play his guitar and sing for his mother while she baked, he could watch the football game with his father as they drank beer and told jokes mother never really approved of. They could go back to a time and place before war, bloodshed, death and darkness.
Caradoc had nearly had that moment, he had tasted death, been in her arms, and even felt her embrace. She wouldn’t take him though; he never saw the bright light, no parents waiting with open arms. Death had been darkness, cold and lonely, a dumpster in a back alley of Bucharest in the arms of a stranger out for his blood. No football game, no baking, no guitar. Just nothing. Death had been a cruel, heartless bitch.
Then he woke up. Death played her cruellest joke, and not only sent him back, but sent him back into a body that would live forever. A body that now made external the monster he had felt like he had been inside, a horrible son, a horrible man, who brought death and had failed his friends and family. Death had teased him, taken him, and thrown him back. Caradoc believed it was to suffer with his sins, he wished he had died that night; he wanted nothing more to do with the living.
But he didn’t die, he lived. And he continued to live, knowing that if he was back, there was a purpose to it. Fate had reasons for everything she did, and perhaps what became of him had been cruel justice, but perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that would one day reveal itself. Perhaps he was alive, with the burdens he carried, to serve a purpose he had yet to know. Maybe he still lived, in a way, so his parents could live through him, and justice could be found.
18 years ago, 2 months and 17 days later and Caradoc Dearborn finally came home. Or at least, what felt the closest he could come to home now. It had taken him months to find them, but he did. He found his parents, tracked down where his Uncle put them to rest in their eternal slumber. He had known since July, but he didn’t have the heart to go, so long living with the guilt he didn’t know if he could face the visual truth of their demise.
Then Godric’s Hollow. Then the camp. Then Dori. People dying, families being ripped apart, souls being tested, and Caradoc wanted his chance to finally say goodbye. Sirius, Remus, Orion reminded him he had family, even if they weren’t here in body. He needed closure.
So Caradoc now stood at the top of a small hill, on a stone path that weaved through rows of tiny headstones in perfect little rows. The sun was dipping below the horizon, not strong enough to harm him, but bright enough to make him bundle up and hide his eyes. He had to see them at least with an ounce of light... he wasn’t going to say goodbye in the darkness, not to them.
A bundle of roses were tucked in his arms, and he was thankful the dark shades hid his eyes, which were full of apprehension and fear. His feet were slow to move, and part of him wanted to turn back, telling him he wasn’t ready to face this. He shouldn’t be here, he put them here.
A steady breath in, a steady breath out, and Caradoc pushed himself forward, down the little path, by the perfect little rows, towards the back of the little cemetery by the ocean in a backwater village of Pembrokeshire, Wales. He didn’t know what he was looking for, he just knew they were here.
Then he saw it, three rows from the tall stone wall at the back. Two headstones combined , the name ‘Dearborn’ carved into the granite clearly. It made him stop, and his hands trembled around the roses.
He swallowed, ducking his head slightly as he raised a hand to block the dying rays of sunset from hitting his face. He walked between the headstones, slowly approaching the one marked with his family name. When he stood in front of it, he choked on a breath, reading the inscription.
DEARBORN Awstin A. (February 2, 1933 – August 7th, 1981) & Corina A.(September 7, 1932 – August 7th, 1981) Mai 'n hwy eneidiau bwyso i mewn dangnefedd
May their souls rest in peace... Caradoc repeated in his mind, the line of Cymraeg inscribed under his parents name. He turned fully to face the headstone, and very slowly crouched down.
He placed the roses on the grave, noticing that besides the standard upkeep of the cemetery, the grave looked unvisited, unkept. The ones all around it had flowers and teddy bears, but this one looked abandoned, as if this couple had no one to miss them. Caradoc set his jaw and began dusting off leaves from the top of the granite, plucking weeds from around the base. Again he thanked his shades, which hid the tears that were starting to fill his eyes. When he could busy himself no more with tending the grave, he finally stared down at the red and white roses, then let his eyes move to their names.
He reached out and touched the granite, letting his fingers run over the deeply etched lines of his mother and fathers name. His tears began to crest over his eyes, sliding down pale cheeks from behind his shades. He swallowed down a sob he had been holding in for over 18 years, as touching this headstone was the closest he’d ever get to touching them.
“I’m sorry.” Caradoc choked out, gasping a bit as he finally said it, the two words he had wanted to say the moment the owl had landed in his lap, “Oh, Gods, I am so sorry. I am so God damn sorry.”
He went down on his knees, resting both his hands on top of the cold stone as he leaned forward and rested his forehead right on his family name, finally bursting into tears. 18 years of sorrow, of anger, of wanting to avenge them and of hating himself for putting them in the place they were, exploding out of him.
“I put you here...” Caradoc sobbed, “I’m sorry. Mam, Tad, I didn’t know. I didn’t want you to pay for my choices. I put you here. I abandoned you. 18 years, it took me 18 years to get here, and it shouldn’t of. I should never have left. Too many people have died, Mam and Tad, too many. You shouldn’t be among them, you shouldn’t. I miss you both so damn much... so damn much.”
Caradoc sniffled and gritted his teeth, his entire body shaking with the emotions he had caged inside for so long. The sheer intensity of them was enough to make him want to be ill, and when he opened his eyes they had gone white, hidden behind the shadows of the lenses. He slowly reached up to take them off his face, the sun now gone and the night taking her hold. He didn’t care if anyone else was here in the cemetery, and saw the monster leaning over the grave. He was past caring.
As his tongue hit his fangs though he felt a wash of shame go over him, wondering what his parents would think of him now. A failure of a son, and a monster. Was there anything left of their baby boy to salvage? Would they even see Caradoc in his inhuman eyes, if they were there to look?
He sniffled and blinked, eyes diverting down to look at the roses. He paused however, noticing something underneath them, something he hadn’t seen when he had first approached. He blinked a bit in confusion and moved the roses aside, and saw a tiny granite stone with a plaque attached to it. Caradoc’s eyes widened as he read the inscription.
In memory of Caradoc D. Dearborn (January 10th, 1957 - ?) Cerddedig namyn erioed 'n anghofiedig
Beside the inscription was an item Caradoc hadn’t seen in a very long time. His Auror badge, which he had left with his mother, attached to the plaque. Proudly displayed beside his name, as if a hero rested here, and not a man who had fled from the Aurors supposedly in disgrace.
Caradoc brushed his fingers over his own name and badge, reading the Cymraeg again. Gone but not forgotten. His eyes rushed with fresh tears, and he wondered if his Uncle had done this. Perhaps when the Ministry had finally gave him up for dead; he brought him as close to resting in peace as he could, an entire family together, though there was no body to put to rest.
Caradoc leaned back and brought a hand to his eyes, wiping at them as he glanced at the names of his parents, and his little plaque sitting in front of it on top of their graves. Part of him so badly wanted to lie down and die right there. He had the headstone already, his parents were here, maybe these 18 years were to get home. He knew though if he was meant to be dead, he would have died in that dumpster, his head handed to Lord Voldemort and body most likely burned to ash and bone.
Caradoc paused, going silent and deathly still for what seemed like forever. The cemetery was technically closed now, but he had no intentions of leaving. Finally, with eyes moving to the plaque bearing his name, he used a hand to carefully dig out a patch of earth, no bigger than a fist, right in front of it. He then brought his wrist to his mouth, biting down into it without making a noise, waiting to taste his own blood against his tongue. Once he had, he dropped his wrist down over the hole and used his other hand to squeeze on the wounds, forcing blood from his body, droplets at a time, down into the hole. He did this until the wounds closed themselves, and once it was done, he put the earth back over the hole, then rested a hand on it.
“Part of me is home,” Caradoc whispered, eyes glancing towards the name of his parents, “I’m with you, a piece of me, and I have carried your memories with me everyday ‘til now, and will carry them forever on. I know I made a grand mess of it all...” his voice choked up again, but he continued in a forced, hoarse whisper, “But I’m not done here, and there’s a good chance I won’t be with you for a long time to come. I can’t leave things like this, the world like this, my life like this. You raised me to be better; you raised me to be more. My only hope was to make you both proud, and I’m trying. I know I’ve fallen far, but I haven’t given up, so please don’t give up on me. I don’t know what you think of me now, or hell, if you’re even anywhere, but I hope you can forgive me. For everything.”
He licked his lips clean, holding the wrist he had bitten, cradling it a bit as he stared long and hard again. He glanced upwards at the moon, one day away from being full, and turned as he heard a breeze kick up that made the trees go wild, their red and amber leaves flying out across the sky. Despite it being the end of October, so close to the ocean, the breeze felt warm to Doc, and very little felt warm to him anymore.
He smiled a little, and looked back to the stone. He leaned forward and placed his lips slowly over each of his parent’s names, then rested his head again on the granite for a brief moment. He finally pulled himself back up to his feet and cleared his throat, sniffling and wiping at his face to try and clear away the evidence of his breakdown. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stood quietly over his families plot, then murmured, “Cara 'ch, Mam a Tad.”
He let his eyes linger for only a moment, and then finally turned the collar of his black coat up, turning and walking back to the stone path. His colourless eyes still shimmered with the remnants of his tears, but he took in a few calming breaths as he approached the gate and the evidence of his vampirism faded away. The gates were locked, but a simple hop and he was on the stone wall beside it, and another tiny hop and he was back on the ground on the other side.
He cast one look over his shoulder at the gate, and the green grass and the tiny little rows. He couldn’t say he felt better, but he felt lighter. Stronger.
He looked back at the paved road ahead of him and began to walk, eyes forward, disappearing into the night.