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

Walking into the Leaky Cauldron Carlisle chose a seat all the way at the end of the bar, after all he wasn't sure that he felt like talking. He was rather put off with himself at the moment. When the barmaid approached him he looked up slightly, but not meeting her eyes and muttered, Butterbeer, please. As she walked off to retrieve his drink he sat in silence, mulling over the last month of his life. He had finished his OWL's early and left Hogwarts a week ahead of schedule because he received word that his father had fallen ill. He of course immediately had rushed to his father's side because he was the only family he knew of that he had left. Luckily, his father Ripken, pulled through a terrible car incident and it's following injuries and was quietly recovering at his home in London. As the barmaid returned Carlisle reminded himself to say Thank you. and took a long sip. It was every bit as tasty as he had remembered it. Carlisle had heard the reports of the student cars of the Hogwarts Express breaking off an going missing, though he wasn't sure where they had ended up. He was terribly upset about that given that he should have been on the train with the rest of the students and it added to his already growing anxiety. He felt responsible, as a Gryffindor entering his final year, for some of his younger Gryffindor counterparts.I should be there with them he thought to himself taking another sip of butter beer. He truly believed that if he were there he could help lead and comfort the scared younger students. Carlisle hadn't made very many friends outside of Gryffindor house at his time at Hogwarts, and regretted not branching out further, surely more connections would help him in his coming job search after graduation. Hearing some footsteps he looked up and stroked his scruffy face, noticing the Quidditch match that was on the tele above his head. The Arrows were playing the Falcons, neither of which he rarely cared about though he did love quidditch, playing nearly every position himself. More and more people were starting to flood into the Leaky Cauldron and he considered leaving, but something just felt right about him being there on this night; as if there was someone he was supposed to meet. The wizarding world had become his new comfort zone, and he wasn't yet ready to return to London, to face his recovering father again. Surely his muggle family members would have gathered at the house and blamed the entire accident on Carlisle not being home with his aging father, and he wasn't ready nor willing to lose his temper about it.

It had been a long afternoon, to say the least. Any effort to research in the Ministry archives had been mired by the stifling heat that had purveyed every nook and cranny that the capital hid and no amount of cooling charms could abate the sense that the world was getting ready to melt around them. Such was the discomfort that a confundus charm was required to bamboozle a man at the desk of a gym not too far from the Ministry. There, after convincing him that he was willing to join, Baldric Wood-Pierson took a thorough shower under ice cold jets and transfigured a few of the random bits of gym paraphernalia he found on the way to the changing rooms into a towel and a fresh set of clothes. The ones he’d been wearing he shoved into a bin. Sodden, they were no use to man nor beast. The shower had done much to restore his equilibrium, though, and, after picking up his bag, he decided to head out for something to eat and maybe a drink before plodding home to pore over more documents.

In the end, he came across the Leaky Cauldron, the stalwart of British wizarding life. He passed two women wearing robes he recognised as belonging to Gringotts as he entered the pub. They were clearly on their way home, he deduced as he paused to watch them from the doorway. Their robes had melted away, a little bit of magic in the material turning them into Muggle jeans and t-shirts. They were just two girls heading home, as far as any passing Muggles would be concerned. A genius bit of magic, really. Shaking his head, a proud smile twitching at his lips, Baldric stepped into the pub, pleased to find the atmosphere lively. Cards were being played on several tables, drinks were running freely, and the bar staff were locked in bright discussions with their regulars. Banter was flying around and everyone seemed happy.

“Just a beer please, love,” he asked the barmaid when he reached the bar, having fought his way through. Once it was in his hand, he felt instantly better and after a mouthful or two he even felt up to looking at the documents again.

Turning away from the bar, Baldric let his eyes flick across the pub. Of their own accord, they settled on a young man sat alone whom he recognised almost immediately. One of his students. Also, technically speaking, his cousin, too. His feet moved instinctively and he found himself standing in front of Carlisle’s table. He set his beer down.

“You must be the only student who didn’t get the train home,” he commented mildly, a smile on his lips. He gestured to the spare seat. “Mind if I join you?”

OOC: not sure if you want to go along with Carlisle not knowing they're related, that's kind of how I envisioned it due to his father's ailing memory and lack of knowledge prior to Hogwarts.

Carlisle heard the young man ask about the train, and for permission to sit down before he saw him; when he looked up he let out a soft chuckle.Be my guest, Professor Carlisle recognized Baldric Wood from his Autumn lectures at Hogwarts. Professor Wood had been one of the few he had actually taken a liking to, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps it was because Baldric seemed not to be much older than him, perhaps it was because they shared the same last name. He had always wondered what it would be like to have magical relatives he was aware of that he could talk to about the magical world. All he had was his father, and a few muggle relatives who always looked at him as if he were crazy. He had heard stories about the Wood family, specifically Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor quidditch legend. It was possible, he thought, that they may be related somehow down the line. That would be pretty cool, and it would explain why he had such a love and talent for quidditch. After all, his father never did share with him the wizarding lineage of his family, and now, recovering from the car accident he had lost most of his memory and Carlisle may never be able to figure it out.

For someone with such a hot temper, Carlisle was always at ease around Mr. Wood and he was grateful that he had sat down next to him, instead of some other flimsy school girl. Yeah, I had no involvement in the Hogwarts Express this go around; and I only have a vague idea what is happening with that situation. All I know is that the train, for the first time in history, arrived late. I also heard that the only cars that showed up were the faculty cars, and all the students vanished... Do you know any more about it? Like I said, I only have a vague idea about what's going on; I just regret not being with my fellow Gryffindors.

OOC: Sure! I don’t think Baldric would have mentioned it to Carlisle once he figured it out. He probably doesn’t think it’s his place to.

A smile toyed at the lips of the former-Gryffindor and he nodded gratefully before drawing out a chair and taking a heavy seat in its soft upholstery. Despite being sat down for the majority of the day, it felt good to do so in an environment that wasn’t academically charged. He relaxed easily against the back of the chair and clinked his nails against the beer bottle, wondering whether they would fall into easy conversation or not. It was odd, to be talking to a student – not least because he was probably one of the only students not missing. That said, odd seemed to be the Hogwarts way of life as of late. This was not exception.

Baldric’s eyes filled with sympathy as he looked at Carlisle. He knew exactly how the young man felt. He, too, wished he could have been there to do something for the students. His colleagues shared in that frustration. They couldn’t do anything for the students, though, wherever they were. Until they found them, they couldn’t do anything, so everyone’s energy was invested in doing just that. Baldric, himself, was buried eye-deep in archives, searching for anything that could indicate how it could be done. It wasn’t his ideal task but he did it all the same.

“I know about as much as you, I’m afraid,” he smiled a little bit. “It was horrible,” he looked down at the label on his beer bottle. “It’s not getting any better yet, either, but we’re making progress. We’ll bring them all home, I’m sure. Are you enjoying your summer so far?”

As Carlisle sat there his mind wandered to his ailing father. After the car accident he barely had any memory left and as it was Carlisle hadn't had the time to ask him about his ancestry or his mother. His poor mother, who died after giving birth to him...he wasn't quite sure how he would ever get over it. The thought of him "killing" his mother infuriated him more than anything. Well, almost more than anything. The only thing worse was his muggle family blaming it on him constantly, as if it were somehow his fault.

My summer has been alright, Professor. Is it ok if I don't call you professor whilst we are here? I feel as if though it's making this awkward. Please, call me Carlisle or James, but not Carl.

Carlisle took another sip of his butter beer and glanced up at the Quidditch game, the Falcons seeker had just caught the golden snitch and the crowd was going crazy, Carlisle had to smirk...how he did miss Quidditch; a beater himself. He thought about his summer, it hadn't really been alright, it had been pretty horrible and he pondered if he could share that information with Baldric. Carlisle tended to be more reserved, but he felt himself clenching his jaw from the slow irritation and anxiety growing within him. Talking about it, or writing about it did generally settle that uneasy feeling. He figured he didn't have much to lose, after all wasn't bar talk supposed to be random?

If I may be honest with you, my summer has been rather dreadful. The reason I wasn't on the Hogwarts Express was because I had to take my OWLs early and leave school early, my father was in a rather terrible Muggle car accident. What he was even doing in a Muggle vehicle I don't know. But by the time I got to the hospital he was awake, but without most of his memories. He knew who I was; but couldn't remember anything past this year. He's doing much better now, I just wish he could remember. He was the key to learning about my true family. This bothered Carlisle greatly. I may never know any of my Wizarding family now, and I may never know anything more of my mother other than the few pictures I have. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been born. he thought to himself taking another sip of butter beer. He glanced up at his professor, hoping he hadn't overstepped his bounds or made him more uncomfortable then he probably already was, drinking with a student; even if it was his final year.

At Carlisle’s insistence, Baldric felt a smile surface once more. He nodded, glad to find that they could create an even atmosphere between them. He, too, had found it odd for them to behave as educator and student when they were not within the walls of Hogwarts. He liked that, of the two of them, it had been the student who had addressed this and provided a solution.

“Well, then,” he said after clearing his throat. “By rights you should call me Baldric, then.” He felt a little odd, saying his own name. He was used to referring to himself by the affectionate nickname he was called by everyone in his family. He couldn’t afford that luxury to Carlisle. Some sense of professional boundary had to be retained, even if they were shucking the vast majority by allowing themselves to address each other by their given names.

By this time, Baldric had peeled the label off of the beer. He looked down at it, wet with the moisture of the bottle, its colour sticking to his skin. He pulled it into his palm and balled it up before throwing it into the ash tray that was angled in the middle of the table, a staple from a time when wizards had a penchant for smoking tailored cigarettes in bars. He looked up again when Carlisle spoke and his brows shot up towards his sandy hairline.

Something rumbled in an unsettled fashion inside of the elder wizard. The boy’s father was his uncle. It was a testament to the brokenness of the relationship between Oliver and Baldric, and indeed probably Oliver and Ripken, that he had heard nothing of it. His heart squeezed painfully, anxiety lifting for a family member he’d never met. He felt some affection for the young Gryffindor before him, who was an able enough student. For the first time, Baldric felt truly compelled to tell Carlisle but for some reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it.

True family.

Baldric brought the beer bottle to his lips, the cogs in his mind turning. That must have been him. Him and his father and his mother and his sister. Them. Their family. As fractured as it was, it was a source of wonder for the boy – a ‘what if’ blank that he could fill with his own imaginations after what they could have been. Baldric’s lips formed a thin line. They wouldn’t meet any of his expectations, regardless of how high or low they were.

“I’m sorry, Carlisle,” he murmured. “That’s quite a burden for someone so young. I can see why you’d seek a little bit of reprieve here,” he lifted his eyes around the pub, a wry smile playing at his features. Yes, he knew the feeling well, indeed. “Will you both make a full recovery?” His implication was clear, that the son was just as affected as the father. Though it was in different ways, they both had to move past the event. It wasn’t an often asked question but one that he had wondered after for long enough as he watched the world around him. It was the question he often pondered on when he looked at Keiran and Millie and he had yet to reach a ‘yes.’

Carlisle sat, taking a final sip of his butterbeer while listening to Baldric. He looked slowly around the Leaky Cauldron, noticing for this first time tonight the musty smell and humidity that filled the air. There were a few shady looking figures sitting in a corner booth, the folk looking as if though they belonged in Knockturn Alley. Carlisle hoped they wouldn’t be an issue. He scratched at his scruffy beard and raised his finger as the barmaid passed and said, Another please. He smiled and said Thanks when she brought his new butterbeer back.

He had heard Baldric ask him if they would both recover…and he took the time to ponder what he had meant by that. Was it possible that someone was actually concerned with his mental health and well being? This was new for Carlisle, his father had always loved him dearly but even he had kept things from him. His muggle family, well, we know the story about them. Carlisle took another long drag of butterbeer before responding to Baldric, mostly because he wasn’t sure what to say. Part of him wanted to open up and tell him everything, but that was out of character for him. Though he figured he had already gotten this far, and now his professor would be concerned about him during his entire final year. Surely that was not what he needed. Now was the time to be gaining their respect so that he would have an easier time finding a job when his time at Hogwarts came to and end…if Hogwarts still had students to teach next year that was. His mind wandered to those stranded wherever it was that they were. He wondered if he could send an Owl.

Baldric, I honestly don’t know if we will be okay. If we will heal. My father, medically, should heal. The doctors say within a month or two of some potions and charms his memory, for the most part should be back, coming in waves at times, but it should be back. Physically, he is 78 now and I’m really struggling with him living at home alone. As far as I go, I’d like to think I will heal. I’m certainly capable of taking care of myself, and him when I’m not in school. My issue truly is that I know nothing of my magical family. My mother was a muggle, and she died after birthing me, he said, voice quivering. He cleared his throat and continued, My father chose to hide the magical world from me until I got my letter from Hogwarts. I always knew I was different, but not to that extent. He has hidden all of my family from me, and all I know is that him and someone he used to consider a best friend got into it over my father’s life choices versus his friends. I just hate that he has kept it all from me. It's a point that brings me great anger. But how can I be angry with an ailing man? He sighed, wondering who this friend of his fathers could have even been; unfortunately, he didn’t believe that Baldric was going to have the answers.

Though they were not the neatest of mirror images, mirror images they seemed to be. There was a part of Baldric that rankled, wondering if it was just a Muggle accident, unable to comprehend that such damage could happen to a wizard. But then, the same image purveyed his own household, purveyed his own heart. Baldric’s thoughts inevitably strayed to his mother and his hand juddered a little against the brown glass of the bottle, as though in sympathy with the notions running through his head. He curled his fingers into his palm and the right hand slid off of the table and into his lap, bouncing absently against the light, navy trousers he wore. It was a Wood family trait, or curse, it seemed, to be surrounded by such ruin.

So much of Baldric wanted to tell the young man but he bristled with the sense of anti-climax. It was a responsibility that should not have been thrust upon his shoulders. It was something that his father should have taken his uncle to task about. If Oliver had cared beyond the perimeter of his property about anything or anyone then it should have long been resolved, sense shaken into Carlisle’s father and some sort of unity found for them all. But it hadn’t. Oliver had done nothing. Baldric, too, had done nothing, unsure of his place amongst the web of secrets that he had unwittingly gotten himself lost in.

But he knew Carlisle needed to know. It wasn’t just for knowing’s sake that he needed to know. It wasn’t just to satisfy a curiosity about a world and a people that had been denied to him. Knowing meant that he wasn’t alone. Knowing about them was to know that, as fractured as Baldric’s family was, there was someone else beyond the fragile precincts of Carlisle’s world that he could seek solace in. It was something Baldric understood with fiercer clarity than he had realised. Wasn’t that the point of everything they did as human beings? Didn’t they all strive and battle and graft to create families and forge relationships so that they could breathe in the hardest of moments, so that they weren’t alone? Carlisle’s loneliness had not been chosen. It had been put unfairly on him.

He wanted to caution Carlisle but he knew he couldn’t. He had his own anger. Much of it he liked to think he’d dealt with since his Hogwarts years but he knew he’d merely buried it, pushed past it because it was easier to keep moving than it was to sit and actually think about it. The strife with his own father had always only ever come as a result of her. Of his mother. All of Oliver’s hopes in his son had been a way of reliving the life that had been robbed of them by the Dark Lord. They knew the touch of dark magic more intimately than most. Bitterly some days, Baldric had wished she had not made it, even at the expense of his own self, so that his father could breath, relax and be himself once more. But they couldn’t. They were all wound as tight as drums. Ready to burst.

And Baldric had to make a choice.

“You can and you have every right to be,” he said temperately. “But if he is suffering … if this is the end, you cannot let it blind you and mar what time you have left with him. As much as it may grate on you, he is your father. And he had his reasons, I’m sure.” His smile was wry. “They usually do, fathers.”

“But,” he went on, wobbling his finger along the rim of the neck of the bottle as he thought, weighing it all up. He lifted his eyes. “Wood isn’t a common name.” His brows rose expressively, urging Carlisle to see what he meant so that he didn’t have to say it. Baldric hated knowing and not saying anything. He hated that it had been put upon him, that he had to be the honest one, the man to do the right thing by the boy.

“Do you recall Freya?” He asked gradually, sitting up straight. “Freya Wood, that is. She graduated last year.” It was a mad thing to consider, really. His baby sister, not so much a baby anymore. “My sister. Your cousin,” he met Carlisle’s gaze steadily. “Not a secret I realised we were keeping from you. I didn’t know until I asked your uncle,” the words felt odd in his mouth. “I fear we’re probably not quite what you were expecting. But you’re not … you’re not alone, Carlisle. Not if you don’t want to be. We’ve … well, we’ve always been here, I suppose. It’s just … no one ever said anything. And for as long as I have known, I have been wrong to not say anything but it feels almost beyond me. Not my place, almost, that it should have been your father or my father or whatever happened … I … I didn’t mean to keep you in the dark but it might be a small consolation to know I am as angry with my father as perhaps you are with yours that he would wilfully omit that you existed. I should have been there for you sooner. And I’m sorry, Carlisle.”

Carlisle's heart pounded, faster than it ever had before. So much so that he thought he may pass out as Baldric began to tell him the truth about Freya, and the truth about himself.   How could I not know about this? Why wouldn't my father have told me. How dare he keep this from me! He thought to himself, banging his fist against the bar top.
How could anyone have kept this from us?! How dare they! How long have you known?! How do I even know you're not lying about this! You've all hidden it as it is! Carlisle was angry, very angry, and he tried to remember this probably wasn't Baldric's fault, nor was it Freya's. Where were these people when his mother died? Where were they to teach him about the wizarding world? Where were they throughout all of his nightmares? His anxiety about the situation grew, his jaw clenched and unclenched over and over. He reached up and ran his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit here and there.

How could I have been so stupid not to notice this before? There's enough of a physical resemblance, let alone all of our personality similarities. I should have suspected long before this. he thought to himself, unsure of whether to be more angry with himself, his father, or the rest of the Woods. All this time he had a family, and a rather successful one at that. Baldric's words rang true though, even through the anger, Carlisle didn't much want to be alone. He wanted to have a family that was like him, that could mentor him, that he could go to for advice.

Baldric, I am sorry for raising my voice. he said quietly, not realizing his left hand was still gripping the edge of the bar, knuckles turning white. I'm sure that this isn't your fault, though I suspect my opinion on that may change depending on how long you've known. I am grateful now to know the truth, though it may not appear that way. I truly am grateful to you for telling me. I want so badly to be angry with my father, but he is a dying man and I don't know what purpose that would serve. I want so badly to be a part of a family that understands me, but I'm not sure we can just jump right into this. I want to know more about you, and your sister. Drop the professor crap, and tell me the truth about my cousins.

Carlisle knew he may have overstepped his bounds by saying that. He took a deep breath, withdrew into his seat while releasing the bar. He feared he may have just forced Baldric to shut down and not want to tell him anything, but he hoped he was wrong. He realized that once his father passed, if this was all true, this may be the only chance he had with a family. He immediately regretted being such a jerk...

Baldric’s lip caught between his front teeth and his cheeks singed with embarrassment and regret as temper flared within the young man before him. He could see so much of himself in the indignant expression. He’d levelled a similar one at his father not too long ago, not that that Baldric had any designs on such a relationship with Carlisle. He had his own children to worry about, and mistakes he had to try and not make. Still, he couldn’t help but back into his chair and retain the guilty look. It wasn’t his fault. It hadn’t been his decision. It had been their fathers. As ever, so much of their lives were out of their hands.

“I have known a while,” Baldric admitted softly once Carlisle had settled down, his voice gentle, in the hope that he wouldn’t grow angry again. “It wasn’t my tale to tell, you see. I wanted to – as soon as I figured it out. But …” Baldric sighed, and brought the bottle to his lips. He took a glug of the beer as he tried to sort out what it was he wanted to say. “Whatever happened in our family isn’t water under the bridge. I could barely get my dad to talk about it. Stubborn goat that he is. It’s a tricky situation, but you needed to know. I was never ever very good at keeping secrets, anyway.” His lips twitched a little with the ghost of amusement.

The smile grew on his face as he sat forward a bit. He wondered what he should say. He knew that there was plenty to tell, mess that their lives were. He decided to omit Oliver and his mother. He wanted to talk about Freya. Not so much himself, but he wanted to talk about his sister.

“Well, um, we grew up in Glospie, in Scotland,” Baldric opened, bobbing up a bit happily at the thought of the many childhood hours that were whiled away in that rugged stretch of the Scottish countryside. “My father has a farm. We were outdoors quite a lot. It was picturesque enough. I suppose we were little rogues, really. It took me quite a long time to settle down, once I was at Hogwarts. It took getting used to. I used to walk miles in search of something to do. I couldn’t there. It’s rigid and formal. There’s structure. We didn’t have a lot of that, Freya and I.”

“But, things got better!” He said optimistically, his grin growing. “I made some good friends, who are more like family to me, and she did the same. Clever girl that she is. Freya’s off travelling at the mo. Seeing a bit of the world. I sort of wish I’d done that, actually. I headed straight into uni. My course, it puts me on a direct placement at Hogwarts so that’s why I’m there still. Quite handy,” he smiled again, his grin shy as he was unused to talking about himself.

“Oh, and I … think I have mentioned it in class or … he’s come in,” Baldric was fishing around in his pocket and he produced his wallet, which he opened and took out a few pictures – one of himself and Ben, a picture of Tim and Eva, and then the four of them together. “This is my husband, Ben,” he set the picture down on the tabletop, a proud, goofy smile on his face. “And our babies, Eva and Tim. Our little family. You know … Freya comes round every Sunday for dinner, usually. Obviously she won’t this week but if you’d like to come along, we’d love to have you. It might be a nice break from everything that’s going on.”