the boy without magic, and the mother without support

Goose had been so looking forward to Hogwarts. He had gone through hellish physical training, a nice concoction of potions, and a lot of doubt to secure his position at the magical school, something to validate all of troubles he had gone through, something to reassurance his certainties that he was, indeed, special. Letter under his pillow, he had gorged on books, extended the greenhouse inventory, questioned Jack thoroughly on the castle's layout, and held his precious wand before him with all the reverence one might have for the thing that would make all the difference.

And then he got to Hogwarts. And he wasn't sure why he hadn't really... figured it out. But of course going to Hogwarts wasn't going to give him any sort of pride in his magical abilities. Here, he was surrounded by students just like him, a reservoir or power within them that they needed to learn to control, work to understand. It was very foolish of him to expect his pride to bolster once he reached the school.

Especially considering his condition. It took nothing for Charlie Jericho to levitate a feather, now. Christian Thorfinn could maintain a stream of water from his wand without even looking. Goose couldn't unlock a door. Goose couldn't conjure a spark. In his hand, his wand suffered a drought, and feathers became lead. Goose's desire to be set apart had been realized.

He was the boy without magic.

And yet, he was passing every single course. His homework was well researched, always on time, and he participated in each class with a special fervor that he was certain earned him some favor among the staff. He was top of his class in Herbology, and that had nothing to do with his connection to the professor. He had done well on their flying lessons, had earned Slytherin House a fair share of points.

But what was all of that if his wand was useless in his hands?

Any time he didn't spend studying or with Charlie was spent in quiet solitude, getting to know the castle and the grounds the best he could. He couldn't rely on magic in a tough spot, so he would have to trust instinct. He wanted to know every nook and cranny, every secret and quirk. And when he tired of exploring, he would just think.

And he had been thinking. And he had a question. One Charlie couldn't answer, the Gryffindor having turned in early after a particularly long day. So he made his way towards the staff room, fortunate enough to run into Professor Lupin on his way, who quickly redirected him to the third greenhouse. Night was falling, but curfew was the one rule Goose couldn't seem to wrap his head around, and so he slipped from the castle and across the grounds, chewing on his question the entire way.

He reached the greenhouse and he could see her moving among the plants. Her dedication was something he could understand. Perhaps that's the real reason he was here. He slowly pushed open the door and cleared his throat.

"Professor McKillon? Could I talk to you?"

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Goose wasn’t a talker. He had hardly had the ability to develop into one in the hospital he had spent the majority of his childhood in, having no other companions than the tutors and other sick kids – the latter of which, as one might morbidly guess, didn’t often stick around long enough to form very close bonds with. And doctors hardly wanted to hear from him. They wanted to tell him what he should be doing, what he should expect, what they were doing, and how it was all going to be okay. He heard the exact same speeches recited to the kids who left without going home. After that, he didn’t really want to open up.

And then he had ended up at Layabout Lane, for which he would, of course, always be grateful. But with Sunny and Jack, and the occasional Gabby and Charlie, there was hardly space to put in a word, even if he had one to say. Sunny more or less spoke for him, freeing him to focus on maintaining the greenhouse and the garden, or devour the house’s hodge-podge library that was strewn through the mismatched rooms like some sort of knowledge scavenger hunt. Solitude had become his most trustworthy companion growing up, and with Solitude came its brother Silence. He often deferred to them, having known them the longest.

So he already felt horribly out his comfort zone, seeking someone out to talk to them, especially considering that this person was his professor. And the mum of his best mate. He had only ever spent time with Charlie outside of Hogwarts once, making the connection to Ms McKillon a little convoluted and weird, even if he did like her and look up to her. She had in her that maternal nature that Jack inherently lacked; not that he begrudged his guardian for this. She had assured him she was not in the business of becoming mother hen. She just wanted to get him a better life. No one else was going to adopt a sick kid. It was hard to resent anything out of the person most likely responsible for saving your life.

Still, he had something to ask Maddie, something nearly related to that. He did a quick scan of the greenhouse, mostly out of curiosity, but it might have been a nervous tick, because his eyes fell on a Bubotuber plant, ripe for squeezing. His hands drifted towards an abandoned pair of gloves and he reached towards the pot. “I can work on this. I don’t mind – it’s better when they’re ripe anyway.”

Once she had given her approval, he moved the pot over to the table she was settling at, and took a seat across from her as he donned the gloves, reaching out for a bowl as he began squeezing, angling the bowl. It was easier for him to look at the plant he was working on, made him feel more in control and less intrusive. With the plant in his hand, he felt like he could go for it.

So he went for it.

“Ms. McKillon, could Sunny and I come spend some time with you and your kids this summer?”

The pod burst, and the disgusting pus sprayed into the bowl. He glanced up at the professor and chewed on the inside of his lip. “I don’t want to be rude, and I know it’s rude to invite yourself somewhere.” He turned the pot and began working on another pod. “It’s just… sometimes I get the feeling that we get in Jack’s way. She doesn’t make us feel that way, and I’m sure everybody would tell me that she signed up for it, or whatever, but anybody that knows her knows she wants to be able to disappear for days to do… I dunno, the stuff she does. I think she could use the break. And Sunny. Um, Sunny doesn’t have a really… normal life. Not really. She’s used to all those creatures and plants and werewolves and criminals and- I dunno, I just think it’d be good for her to be around a normal family.”

Oh, geez. A normal family.

This was when his hands fell from his work, something like embarrassment touching on his face. “I didn’t mean that.” Yes he did. “Okay, I kind of did. I like that our house isn’t normal. And Sunny loves it. But it’d just be… I dunno… I thought…” He let out a sigh, reaching up to rib his face with his exposed forearm, before letting it drop. “Doesn’t really matter what I thought, seeing as I said that.”

Goose had been more than certain he would be sorted into Ravenclaw, and there were certainly days when he doubted the hat's ultimate decision. Days where he watched Kath and Casper part from them, headed for their tower, and he knew he could get past the knocker's riddle, could sit in a common room, where the word 'mudblood' and 'blood traitor' were never uttered, and if they were, earned condemnation rather than smirks and snickers. There was more merit to the house beyond the increase in tolerance - though for a boy raised by a muggleborn, muggle lover, and muggle sister, it was getting harder and harder to keep his jaw clamped shut amid what could only be called hate speech. The mere idea of being surrounded by those who enjoyed an intellectual exercise for the sake of exercising the mind would have been soup for the boy's soul.

(Perhaps he was overestimating the ravens and their altruistic love of learning. But he couldn't help but wonder and dream.)

For all of this, Goose was smart. And he prided himself on an intelligence that extended beyond books and theory, reaching into social understand and psychology. He knew he was a closed book. He knew he was withdrawn. But he spent his days with the emotionally-stunted Jack Dyllan, who was so confused and hostile towards affection that she threw it as far away from her as she could and tried to outrun it. Or Sunny Dyllan-Thomas, the vessel through which Human Kindness itself had collected, quietly extending itself towards each heart, worthy or not. These two extremes provided a spectrum upon which those who fell in between might be understood. Even if he had no idea where he landed.

So, he had known exactly what Maddie's answer would be, had known since he had conceived the question, only uncertain once he had decided to turn theory into action. Uncertainty born more out of shame for his frankness. Because of course she would say yes. He knew he was a student had earned the pride of his professor, the friend who had earned the approval of a mother. Even if it was inconvenient, even if it was totally unworkable, Maddie was going to agree and make it happen. Which is precisely why he felt so bad asking for it. He knew he wasn’t manipulating, and he knew his intentions were pure. He just wished he were a little less self aware – which was something he seemed to desire the older he got, and the crueler people seemed.

Her words assured him of much. He would spend the entirety of the next year leading up to the visit telling himself that she had been likely to offer anyway, that he was only taking initiative for his summer plans. He would drown out the crueler thoughts – if she was going to invite them anyway, why had you aired out all of those non-issues? You made Jack look horrible for no reason – under the guise that time healed all wounds and that Maddie was a forgiving, understanding woman. Nothing would be held against anyone.

Doubt would linger. And it’d fester.

But she had agreed. And done so in such a comforting manner that he would be able to temper his misgivings, at least for a moment. A smile, quiet in its gratitude but nonetheless sincere, flickered onto his face, and he ducked his head to begin massaging the bubotuber, nose twitching as the fumes from the bowl twisted upwards towards him. He was almost embarrassed to have succeeded, but it was nothing to the happiness he felt at considering it now fact. It wasn’t a distant possibility, wasn’t something to hope for. It would happen.

God, Sunny was going to be so happy.

“I think the menagerie will be half the fun,” he said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his ever-serious mouth, his eyes lifting to glance up at her, checking to make sure she knew he was grateful. She had been so graceful about it, not a flicker of concern or judgement for the admission to an unstable home life. She continued, switching to the nuts and bolts of the operation, and he felt a spark of nervousness at the idea of her speaking to Jack. Not because he doubted Maddie’s diplomatic abilities, or Jack’s willingness to let them go experience good things, but because he just couldn’t be sure that Jack wouldn’t see through him, and see that as much as it might be the desire to go, that there wasn’t in part the desire to leave.

He didn’t want to leave. Not really. Layabout Lane was as far from a traditional home as possible. Everything in the garden wanted to kill them, and the creatures inside were hardly appropriate guardians. The stream of visitors weren’t friendly, they didn’t use age-appropriate language, and more than once, someone came in wearing somebody else’s blood. There was always something happening there, and it wasn’t often that it was good, but it was always exciting. And when it was too much, Goose had the greenhouse, the garden, the paddock, his room.

But lately, it wasn’t what was there that unsettled the home. It was what wasn’t.

Sunny had kept the little closet room. Even when Charlie had left and a room had opened up, Sunny preferred the nook turned home, with the built in shelves and the trundle bed and toys crammed into every corner. In fairness, most of her things had crept into the living spaces of the house, and she spent by far the least amount of time in her room, preferring the living room, kitchen, and garden, where she could be in control of all things. But Goose had noticed. He had seen Sunny’s shoes and a few of her books appear in Max’s old room. And then he noticed some of her favorite stuffed animals. And then one day, the covers were rumpled, the bed unmade, Sunny’s favorite blanket poking out from under a pillow.

And then he understood a little better why Jack was spending so much time at work.

Goose knew the Jericho’s had absences. He had never asked Charlie, had never found it his place to even attempt. Their quiet companionship made no demands of explanations. But their ghost wasn’t one that he missed. And that might have been selfish of him, but between self-pity and selfishness, he’d rather have the latter.

He cleared his throat. “When you talk to her… could it be your idea?”

And now he was making her an accomplice.

She had given him permission to share. And he knew he wouldn’t get the opportunity again. He knew he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of frankness, so if he was going to take it, he had to take it now. He’d spend the rest of his life following Jack’s cue and keeping how he really felt buried down deep, so far from being spoken that he hardly recognized it himself. But at least, right now, he would be honest.

But he just couldn’t. He couldn’t tell her that neither he nor Sunny knew what a mother looked like, knew what being mothered felt like. Jack tried her best to be a guardian to them, but she had made it clear that she was not a mother type. She was a guardian, a friend with authority. But he couldn’t put that on Maddie. He just couldn’t.

“I think it might bother her if she thinks we’re wanting for anything. We’re not. It’d just be nice, is all.”

They weren't really a feelings family.

Goose had always been a little... clinical in his approach to life. It had been the easiest way to deal with the possibility of never living to see his tenth birthday, or living to find a family for himself. And he had learned it from the people who largely made up his company before Jack and Max took him in. He couldn't blame the doctors. If they were loving and warm to every patient, really got to know they as people rather than problems, it would make it much harder to save them. When things got personal, people made mistakes.

Then there was Charlie, who was mysterious even in her frankness. She seemed wholly unembarrassed about everything, casually mentioning times in which she and her companions were arrested or got food poisoning from trying to cook their own fish, but she never seemed to divulge how she felt on any particular manner. It took him awhile to see this, as she had been travelling the past few years, only stopping by for a day or two at a time before some new friend collected her and they were off to Ecuador or Seoul or something. But he had finally noticed that Charlie could say a lot without trapping herself into any sort of perspective. He wasn't sure if that had anything to do with her new-age, zen friends, or if it were a trait that ran through the family.

Because, of course, then there was Jack. She expressed her anger and boredom well enough, as her work invariably made its way into her home and the other occupants were used to random exclamations of "I'm going to set these files on fire! I'll do it! ...Don't try to stop me!" No one ever did, and she never rarely went through with the threat. She was loud in those emotions that were comfortable, but louder still was the fact that she didn't say Max's name, that she had stopped mentioning Albus, that she still had not talked to her father about what was bothering him. Goose knew those silences did not equate to an absence of feeling.

Sunny, of course, balanced them all out. The girl was equal parts Sun and Storm. She took the job of bringing joy to Layabout very seriously, be it through educating them all on everything ostrich, or filling the house with flowers from the garden, bees and all. And she was definitely the one to confront any and all problems that needed addressing, calling family meetings for every reason between "No more macaroni and cheese, we need real food" and "I think it's about time we got a hippogriff." She was far too young to be equipped with the ability to provide any solutions, but she did her best to offer alternatives.

Even she, though, had gotten more quiet the day Layabout Lane had become roomier.

So Maddie's cooperation in making this all easier was not lost on the boy, who could not have handled any sort of direct treatment of his problems. He was relieved to know that Jack would never know the genesis of the Grand Dyllan-Jericho Sleepover Scheme because that was one less thing to be silent about.

He picked up another Bubotuber plant and began to work. Plants didn't lie. They didn't hide how they were feeling. If they felt sick or thirsty, they drooped. They demanded attention and solutions. And if you were so stubborn as to ignore them, they'd go as far as dying to spite you.

Goose hadn't been sure of Maddie's meaning until she finished speaking. His eyes darted up in time to catch her smile before she went and busied herself on the other side of the greenhouse. His hands were still on the plant before him, but he didn't move, the gears in his head turning. So, Maddie knew what it was like to be... well. The orphan word felt so dramatic. Especially because he didn't rightly know if his parents were alive or dead. And honestly, it wasn't as though they took up much of who he was at all. He hardly considered them these days. It didn't seem right to think hopelessly after people who had abandoned him. But it wasn't them that he wondered after. No, he considered what it would be like to just... know his parents. To have a woman in his life who fussed and wiped smudges from his nose, and a man who sat him down to explain how to talk to girls.

Jack was great. As was Sunny, and Charlie. And Max have been great too.

But Maddie was right. It wasn't the same. He could hardly make a comparison, but he just knew. It wasn't the same.

A guardian was not a mum.

"What happened to Charlie's dad?"

It wasn't fair of him to ask that. He knew it. It was a total ambush. He had no right to ask. He had set Maddie up to deal with his problems, not to confront her own. And the question was so uncharacteristic, so unexpected of the boy who seemed to innately understand privacy. But he had asked the question and was having a hard time apologizing for it or taking it back. All he could hope to do was justify it. "Charlie hasn't said anything, and I thought I'd ask Kathryn but..." But sometimes he forgot how to speak around the spunky Ravenclaw. "I don't know." And then it came, because it was deserved. "I'm sorry."