Hugo Weasley loved his parents unequivocally. It was a passion that rode somewhere between deference to what they had done in their lives, the knowledge of who exactly they were to the rest of the world, and the love of a child whose parents had been beside him, supporting him, always. It was their sofa he had fallen back on when Iggy had died. It had been his father's neck he had buried his face into as the tears finally flowed. It was his mother's hands he had clung onto until she regretfully protested that he was hurting her. He had always loved them. He had always listened to them. Some things, though, inevitably got blocked out. It took another person, somewhat detached from the nucleus of disaster that was Hugo's life, to show how true they were in their words sometimes.
Like you've aged ten years since I've last seen you.
The same thing had been jokingly said by his mother a few weeks before when he'd gone home (rather unwillingly, he might add) for a Sunday roast. James had been there, looking rather put out himself, and their eyes had met across the dinner table when Hermione's voice had rung out in an echo of Yvette's later observation. The Potter man had raised a pointed eyebrow at his younger cousin before dropping the sharp, Weasley gaze. Hugo had gritted his teeth, much in the same way he was now, and told his mother she was mistaken. He was just tired. It had been a long couple of days. A particularly nice family had been obliviated and he'd not taken well to it. The last had been a lie. He liked nothing more than leaving contrived memories in the minds of otherwise pleasant people. He liked giving them bad ones. Maybe the malevolence was aging him. Maybe it was now just him. Old and tired looking. No verve. No youth. No happiness.
"It's been a rough couple of days," the lie was so easy, he almost believed it now. "I've been working late. Should've stayed at home, rather than come here. Should've tried to get some sleep."
But then, he knew as well as he suspected Yvette would, that he wouldn't have stayed home. He was a caged lion when he was trapped in four walls that he was expected to have an affinity to. Inevitably, he would have ended up in the Hog's Head or somewhere dingy in Knockturn Alley where he'd get into a fight he would take too much pleasure in and be forced to obliviate the patrons after taking care of the belligerent one he'd come to blows with. Knockturn Alley's portion of the Thames was full anyway with bodies. Full to bursting. So much so that they could create a dam. The Ministry didn't care to look into it. What was one more body for the pile?
Hugo found it easier to listen than he did to talk. It was simpler to watch Yvette order her burger and twitter about work. In a funny sort of way, he liked it. He liked knowing that she was in a good place, amongst good people. When the question was turned on him, however, he was lost for words. He didn't know what it was like working in the Ministry, really. The Aurors didn't respect him. The Obliviators thought he was too young. The only people that seemed to like having him around were his cousins that also worked there. So he was good at his job. Too good, just to prove himself. His mother's son through and through in that respect.
"It's only really good when I'm out in the field," he conceded, picking up some napkins for Yvette as they moved to the side, out of the way. He held them out to her. "The paperwork is dreadful, too. I don't recommend it. Stay in bar work. It's simpler." He chuckled then and offered her a small smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, though."
by Yvette Tungsten-Wells Sat Jun 27, 2015 4:37 am
