“Dad will be happy, then,” was Adriana Rookwood’s first comment upon the arrival of the divorce papers.
The said papers had only served to blacken the already foul mood that had encompassed the Rookwood man. Upon arriving home sometime after being encouraged to do so by the Hayes whom he’d been with for a few days, Theodore’s temperament hadn’t lifted until he set his gaze on his daughter whom he grasped away from her drawing and for an hour to coax her into a nap for the sake of just being able to hold her, to memorise every feature and every expression as she dreamed, to be able to listen to her breathing knowing that she was safe, alive, well, his.
The following days had only sufficed to return him to his melancholy and though alcohol helped to subside much of that misery, it did not go far enough to do so. Theodore and Adriana had since lapsed into a strange existence. She still refused to talk about her Muggleborn in Kilkenny whom he had noticed she spent much of her time writing to if the comings and goings of owls were at all indicative of anything. They watched the television, Theodore having bought one a while ago for the sake of learning about Muggle culture. They ate take-out. They looked after Esme.
That was their life.
When the divorce papers came, it became clear that almost everything in Theodore’s life had been reset. The inclusion of a Hogwarts recall in the event of extenuating circumstances only further proved as much. All he hoped was that his father didn’t walk in with a pretty chit for him to marry in the coming months so that everything went full circle. No, he would have rather inquired after whether his sister’s Muggleborn had a sister. Or perhaps he’d stay celibate – boring though that fate would be – and just raise his daughter. That wasn’t such an awful thing, he realised, as he might have found it all a year before.
That morning, Theodore had gotten up late. Esme was sleeping through the nights fully now, bad dreams and missing her mother had taken up her first few weeks, and as well as a sweet tooth she’d also inherited his penchant for lying around doing nothing. She was a chip off the old block and so the pair of them got up just after eleven o’clock, showered, got into another set of pyjamas and went in search of breakfast. Then it was a case of watching whatever they had recorded the night before then moving on to daytime television.
When the door opened, the mise en scene would see Theodore sprawled across his sofa, his legs hanging over the end, his head propped up by pillows. His sister was curled up in the large arm chair by the window, writing furiously in her pretty calligraphy on a piece of parchment and Esme was sat on the floor, drawing happily on her sketchpad which Theodore had gone and gotten her not long after she’d moved in with him. Theodore and Adriana both looked up when Amelia’s voice resounded around the house and both flinched, too.
Neither wanted this interaction.
Theodore sat up, extending his hands to his daughter who got to her feet, allowing him to lift her up into his embrace. He then in turn cast his eyes across to Amelia and he sighed heavily, setting Esme down on his lap.
“Hallie doesn’t live here anymore,” he answered gradually. “She left. Ages ago.” Theodore inhaled deeply. “Do you want something to drink, Amelia? This is going to be a bit of a long chat I think.”
“I’ll get something,” Adriana volunteered, putting her writing things away in her box of precious items. This, of course, meant she was there to stay. Ordinarily, Theodore would have complained but she’d been a life saver. He only wished he could have articulated as much.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Adriana offered, sidling past Amelia before moving out of the door, retreating to the back of the house after the kitchen.
“Sit down,” Theodore asked of her wearily. “Please.”