All the lonely people, where do they all come from?

OOC: Sorry it took me so long, I'm fighting what's either a nasty cold, or the beginning of the flu.

Carlisle sat and listened intently as Baldric told him the story. The more he talked the more Carlisle felt bad for ever being angry with him in the first place. Obviously something had happened between their fathers, and he wondered if it was something ridiculous and that's why they wouldn't tell anyone. He took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, there was no longer a reason to be upset about this situation. It was becoming more and more clear that this hadn't been Baldric's fault.

Listening to Baldric speak about his family warmed Carlisle slightly. It was nice to know that Baldric had children and a husband. Carlisle saw nothing wrong with that, and he greatly despised the bigots that did. He longed to meet with Baldric's family, just to see if he connected on some emotional level with any of them, it had been so long since Carlisle had a family to check on and take care of. He felt the need to tell Baldric a bit about himself as well.

I would really love to meet your family; I mean I guess they're my family too, though that choice will be left up to them. I don't expect to come just barging into their lives. I feel as though you should know a little bit about me. I was born in Liverpool, immediately after my birth my mother died. Carlisle said softly, unsure of whether he should or could continue. But, if they were going to be family, Baldric should know. I don't remember much about her. After she passed our muggle family felt the need to blame it on me growing up, saying it was all my fault she was gone. Odd things happened during my childhood especially when I'd get angry, much like the story of Harry Potter goes. My father kept magic a secret from me until I got my letter and then he all of a sudden thought it was the greatest thing ever. I guess by then he was no longer impressed with keeping the muggle happy and decided it would be best to just be the two of us, that's when we moved to London.

Carlisle sat back slightly, trying to judge Baldrics reaction. One of his favorite things to read other than books was people. Baldric had been smiling shyly throughout their conversation and Carlisle wondered why his personality was as soft as it was, when he had been so harsh.

I would like to ask our fathers about what happened. Do you think that's a good idea? I mean mine is kind of senile at this point, but maybe we could sort of reconnect them, you know? Carlisle asked, genuinely looking for the elder Baldric's advice, though he was not that much older. Carlisle's thoughts floated to himself at that age and he wondered if he too would be married with a family, or if he would ever have a career that he found fulfilling.

Baldric’s lips turned down at the sides when Carlisle told his story. In many ways, Baldric could say that much of the same had happened to his mother. The difference between their mothers was that Baldric’s lingered on in this strange space between life and death that he couldn’t understand, even years down the line. The Cruciatus Curse was an Unforgivable that had done so much damage in his family. He could barely look at her some days, when he had the misfortune of having to see his father. Aged before her time, riddled with the side-effects of such a horrid curse and cursed, indeed, by the fact that she still had to live and the fact that her body was deteriorating, leaving a keen mind behind that could not articulate itself. He hated it. And he hated the legacy it left him. Just thinking of her, and the sadness that hid in every corner of their family home, made him want to apparate home and curl into Ben’s arms. He hated that Carlisle had to suffer a similar reality.

And the blame. Merlin. Baldric had never experienced the blame directly, though he sensed that Oliver resented them both, him and Freya equally, when it came to what had happened to their mother. But nothing had ever been said aloud. Nothing had been dumped so resolutely at Baldric’s door as it had been at Carlisle’s by his so-called family. Baldric sighed and gestured to the barmaid to get them two more drinks, though this time a beer for Carlisle. Butterbeer was for students. In that moment, he was one of the last students in England not missing. That, in Baldric’s mind, gave him the righto have something more than a Butterbeer. And besides, this was the sort of conversation that beer should accompany.

“I’m sorry, Carlisle,” Baldric murmured. “I’m sorry that this happened. It wasn’t your fault. You do know that, don’t you? That’s not something you could ever be blamed for.”

Baldric sat back in his chair and offered a grateful smile to the barmaid when she returned, setting the two ice-cold bottles of beer on the table. He began to pick at the peeling label again almost immediately after taking a long slug and he considered what Carlisle was saying, wondering whether it was worthwhile even going to their fathers when it was so evident that they were of the same mould – stubborn and impossible, incapable of being anything other than themselves.

“I don’t know if it’s something worth trying, you know. They’re … I mean, I know my father is the most frustrating human being I’ve ever met so … they don’t sound too different from each other. Do you think it would be worthwhile to try and reconnect them? I just wonder whether it won’t make them angrier.”

A smile crept across Carlisle's face when a beer was set before him and he took two longs swigs. This he thought, must mean that Baldric was no longer viewing him as a student. Carlisle listened to Baldric reassure him, as so many others had, that his mother's death wasn't his fault. He knew that, somewhere deep down, though that never stopped him from getting upset about it. He hoped that someday he could forgive himself for something that wasn't his fault, and move on to other worries.

Yes, I do logically understand that none of it is my fault. But naturally, that can be hard to accept sometimes. It's led to so many problems for me Baldric. Anger, anxiety, you name it and I've dealt with it. I've gotten better, it doesn't consume me anymore, but it's still buried down there somewhere. he said, taking another sip of his beer, now half gone.

He pondered what Baldric had said about their fathers. He was probably right, it did at this point seem like a lost cause. Maybe we should just let our fathers believe they have the whole truth. They're both growing old, and more stubborn by the day. I'm just not sure if I will be able to withhold the fact that I've met you from my father. I'm just so grateful. But perhaps we need to accept that the fate of the family is in our hands now, and you've already got a family of your own to worry over. Hopefully I may be able to help you some day when I leave Hogwarts. I still don't know what to do. Part of me would be happy working in a shop, part of me wants to be an author, and there's still that small piece that says auror it is. Not to mention I'm not half bad at quidditch. There's just so many options you know? I want to find a wife, and get married, but all of the girls around here pay me little serious notice. Carlisle was venting, and gushing, and hadn't realized that he'd finished his beer. It'd been so long since he drank that he was already feeling buzzed, and whether or not he could tell for himself, he was flooding Baldric's ears with information he may not even care about.

The elder Wood man nodded solemnly, considering Carlisle’s thoughts carefully. He knew that it was pointless hankering after some sort of alternate universe where everything could have been different, where the hurt in both of their childhoods could have been taken away. It was over and done with now. Completely for Baldric and nearly for Carlisle. They were grown men. They weren’t cowed and hurt children anymore. And yet somewhere the hurt went on inside them, whirling around, searching for an outlet, searching for a reason for its very existence. Carlisle should not have been wounded the way he had been. Resentment towards his Muggle family flared within Baldric. How could they have done that? To a child, no less? He was an innocent, as scarred by his mother’s loss as he was.

“You can talk to me about it,” Baldric’s voice was gentle and assuring. “Whenever you’d like to. I can’t promise I’ll always offer good advice,” he chuckled a little despite himself, “but, um… I can listen, if you just want to vent. I owe you that much as a cousin, eh?” He smiled genuinely and then surprise followed as Carlisle did, in fact, confide in him. Baldric’s smile grew softer as he looked at the young man, realising that they were so very much alike. He had born his own confusions about his life and about the world that was swirling around him, so utterly out of his control. It had brought him to the Leaky Cauldron one fateful Christmas … and there, over by the fireplace, he’d met the man who had gone some way to make it all make sense again … to calm the winds and the storms in the sandy-haired wizard’s heart. The world was a funny old thing.

“You’ve got time, lad,” Baldric soothed, leaning forward. “Trust me. You’ll figure it out. You have the time to sort through all of these options and find out what makes you happy. And girls … they’re a tricky bunch. Fickle. But we’re all like that, I think. I only ever had one serious relationship with anyone and I married him so … I mean, my best friend … she could probably give you a crash course in how life and love goes awry. But jobs are certainly worth thinking about? You could get a shop job over the summer, then think about maybe doing some open training sessions with a few Quidditch teams, maybe? See if they’re interested? You’re always welcome to intern with me if magical history strikes your fancy.”

Carlisle listened intently as Baldric spoke. He was giving him outstanding advice, and Carlisle knew it would do him well to heed it. His mind wandered to what it might feel like to be a professional quidditch player...getting paid to do something he so loved. The wind rushing through his hair, him swatting at the bludgers and saving a seeker such as the once great Viktor Krum.  Then again, an internship might not be a bad thing, in case the Quidditch prospect didn't work out. I am very interested in interning with you, if you wouldn't mind. I could start whenever you needed. I do love magical history, I could even see myself teaching that some day.Carlisle glanced at his watch, he was supposed to be meeting his father within the hour, to check in with him. It broke his heart having to cut their conversation short. Baldric, I want to thank you for how welcoming and honest you have been with me. It's so nice to know that I'm no longer alone. I'm serious about the internship, I can start whenever you'd like, and I will contact the local Quidditch teams, but for now, I must go. I am supposed to be going to check in on my father.

An apprentice of sorts himself, still buried in the mountains of research that he’d committed to, Baldric had never considered taking on, well, an apprentice of his own. He didn’t understand how Keiran could find the time to sort out Livia’s learning and development – and he had far more going on than Baldric did. Perhaps he could, then. It all lined up rather nicely, too. It seemed only right that Carlisle would be the one. There couldn’t be anyone else, could there? This must have been fated – or certainly something like that, at least.

“We’ll talk about it again towards the end of this year,” Baldric promised, not wanting to put too much pressure on Carlisle to commit to apprenticing with him even if the thought did charm the Pierson man. “You may have changed your mind and, who knows, if we get some Quidditch interest, you might want to think through all of the options available to you. You’ve always got them, you know. Options. You can always do something to change yourself and to improve. It’s never too late for any of that.”

And then it was time for them to part ways. There was something in Baldric that urged him to go with the young man. It was curiosity, he suspected. He wanted to know what his uncle looked like, whether he was the spitting image of his own father or whether they’d inherited different genes from their parents. He could wait, though. That’s what the rational side of him counselled. This wasn’t the time.

“Have a good evening, Carlisle,” Baldric smiled genuinely. “We’ll see about that position. I’ll have to consult with the Headmaster once all of this business with the train is dealt with. Don’t be afraid to send me an owl if you’d like to talk.”

(OOC: The end, I guess! Haha)