Who: Stephen Cornfoot What: An unusual night Where: Ravenclaw 7th Year Boys Dormitory When: November 20th 1997, early morning Rating: Definately PG-13 Status: Closed
He knew they were hiding something. He just knew it. His sock covered footsteps were light on the stairwell, no one would even know he was awake. He past through the front room, with the curtains drawn, around the dining room table and across the hall to his father's small office. It held such a particular scent, like Old Spice cologne and wood. There were shelves of books and a small window that looked out to the alleyway between the houses. A light filtered in from the street. Curiosity overtook him as he crawled behind the desk, his small fingers digging into drawers and in files. His eyes scanned a few sentences, nothing of interest.
Moving over to the shelves, Stephen selected books, removing them by their spines, flipping through the pages. Stuck between them, Stephen found a few pictures. Holding them up to the dim light that cut through the room, he studied them. Faces he wasn't even sure he recognized. He shoved the photos back between the pages, he returned the books to their rightful places. That was when a small wooden box with a golden clasp caught his eye. Removing it from the shelf, he undid the clasp and opened the lid to find a series of letters in faded envelopes.
After that, everything was a blur. His parents had arrived home to find Stephen in the office. He bombarded them with questions about this and that, his father sighing and turning his back. His mother on the other hand was livid. He heard her voice, the thick wave of frustration, the anger seeping through her accent. Her thick dark hair, normally neatly pulled back, slipped from it's hold and fell in swirls around her. Her eyes were tired and watering at the edge. Stephen couldn't hear what she was saying as she pulled him up by the arm. The words tumbled over each other. Why, Stephen, why must you always going digging for things. It's none of your business, Stephen. We don't have to explain it to you.
But he would not drop it and persisted to question. He couldn't even remember now. But then he felt it, the heat of her hand across his face as he dropped to his knees. It burned his flesh and stung his pride. She stood there, hands across her chest. That should teach you to keep quiet, she hissed. But after a moment, the look of satisfaction melted as she watched her little boy break into tears. She had been furious, it was true, but there was no need to lose her temper - to slap him. Not only had she done, but it had felt so good, so good to wipe that smirk of his little face. Until it broke into peices. She crouched down beside him, reaching out to pull him into her chest, to hold him close - to apologize.
Stephen wriggled himself out of her grasp and ran. But his subconscious twisted and turned, leading him from his childhood home to another series of rooms all together. He ran until he was out of breath, wheezing as he sat down on the corner of the bed. He felt an arm around his shoulder and knew instinctively this was not his mother. He turned to the woman and pulled her close to him. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her ear. "I know," she replied, her breath warm against his chest. "I know, Stephen."
The woman felt soft and smelled like clothes dry outside in the sunshine. Stephen pulled away from her just enough to hold her face in his hands. Even in his dreams his eyes were closed as he tilted her chin upwards, pressing his lips against hers.....