October 7th, 1888 - The Florist Potts

He wasn’t there when it happened.

Thomas had received the owl from his mother not two hours ago and no sooner had the feathered beast ventured back to the skies had Thomas’ own skies collapsed into a haze of disbelief and disorder. His mind warped with chaotic visions and he could feel gravity clutching to him with every fibre of strength. He could feel himself slowly slipping – drifting – into a cold and grey sea whose tide had no direction. He could see the words on the parchment but they refused to register. He refused to allow them to.

He’s gone.
Please come home.

His soul shuddered with each letter his eyes scanned over; body writhing with each syllable, curling into a ball and begging for the words to simply vanish out of existence. It was five words he did not want to read and his entire being did not want to acknowledge those words in that order by the one person who had always bought him nothing but comfort. His mother had always been the one to ensure the sun was turned on. She had been the one who would take the blue paint and throw it to the sky. His mother; his wonderful, joyous, happy mother had, on this day, taken the blue paint and replaced it with grey. She had taken a cloth and wiped out the sun. In place of the sun, there was nothing but darkness and it was in the darkness that Thomas found himself wanting to remain.

Wandering around the village of Hogsmeade, Thomas could not see anyone. It wasn’t for lack of people or lack of looking, he just could not process that there were other beings in this dim, dark world he had found himself being a part of.

The streets were grey and the bushes were drab with wilted leaves. Where the shop signs once had brilliant hues of red, blue, green, and yellow they now had indistinguishable shades of grey. Everything had fallen apart and nothing – nothing – made sense anymore. Looking around wildly, Thomas could feel his head pulsing to and fro and his vision danced with it. He needed to go somewhere quiet. Somewhere peaceful. And that somewhere appeared in Zinnia’s family shop.

He opened the door and stood inside, standing in the entranceway for a few minutes before opening his mouth to speak though as he did, his words dashed to the back of his throat and clung there, refusing to leave. A choked sound came from his lips before he rubbed his eyes and took a few steps forward though still, no words came.

It was then that it hit him. It hit him harder than anything he had experienced. It hit him harder than he’d ever wish on his worst enemy.
It was then, as he stood looking like a lost puppy with sorrowful and vacant eyes in front of Zinnia Potts that he realised one truth that hurt him more than a dagger to his heart.

He wasn’t there when it happened.
He wasn’t there when his father had taken his last breath.
He wasn’t there to comfort his father as death’s embrace took hold.

And he could never take that back.

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Life had been a bit of a whirlwind since the fog had lifted and since she'd gone to London that day to see Mr. Tilcott. Business was busy, that was for sure, but her thoughts were a bit scattered wondering if the quidditch player was alright. She hadn't heard from him since. So she chose to hope that no news was good news. Perhaps his father had miraculously pulled through. Things like that happened all the time after all, didn't they?

Regardless of what she had or hadn't heard, she'd been busier than usual at the shop. Without the fog, people wanted pretty and bright flowers again and Zinnia's arrangements were still highly sought after. She'd also started earning a bit of a name for herself in regards to her paintings and had been commissioned to do some. No portraits as of yet, but she'd take what she could get. Especially since she was far more comfortable with her landscapes and florals.

She was, however, still working on portraits from time to time. She'd started using family and friends as inspiration though instead of just random faces. There was on in particular that she'd been working on ever since that trip to London and then back to Hogsmeade. Zinnia wasn't sure how well it would be taken by Mr. Tilcott or his family but she'd decided to do a sort of portrait of him and his family. But instead of the usual serious expressions seen on so many portraits, she'd decided to take a few artistic liberties and paint them smiling and happy. She felt as if she'd captured the thought and feel rather well. Tommy, Mr. Tilcott, had just told an absurd story and had his family members laughing as a result. His father didn't look the shell of a man that she'd seen just briefly when she'd gone to the Tilcott home to be there as a support for Mr. Tilcott. No, instead they all looked happy and she hoped that the painting would indeed make them happy. Or, at least, as happy as they could be all things considered.

She'd just finished with the painting, deciding it was as done as it was going to get and had been cleaning up her brushes as she prepared to get the shop closed up for the evening. She'd hardly registered that someone had entered the shop, she'd been so lost in what she was doing. She eventually looked up though and the usual bright and vivid smile on her features quickly fell when she took in the sight before her.

Mr. Tilcott stood there looking as if the world had just crashed down upon his head. That could only mean one thing. She gulped as she came around the counter to stand in front of him. Tentatively, she leaned forward and gave him a hug. She didn't really know what she could even say or do to help but she could feel the tears burning at the corners of her eyes.

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Fab Bee Set!

As Zinnia approached him, Thomas stood there silent and dazed. He could not react; there was nothing. It was as if there were chains around every limb and with each attempt at moving, the chains pulled at him tighter and tighter. He could feel his heart getting crushed with each breath he made. It was as if an enchantment had turned him into a statue.

Her arms reaching around him ought to have been a comfort. It should have felt nice to have someone – anyone – there to provide support. But it didn’t. It made him feel as if everything that was happening was real. It made him feel like the dream-like haze he’d found himself in was not a dream, or a nightmare, but a harsh reality that he could not escape from. And it hurt. It hurt him more than anything had ever hurt before.

His eyes fixed on the canvas behind the counter and what he saw shook him to his very core. It was him. His family.
His father.
And they were smiling.
They were happier. Happier than he’d perhaps seen them in a long time and as he took in every miniscule detail of his father’s wide beaming smile, Thomas could feel his emotions begin to get the better of him.

He could feel the droplet slither down his cheek onto Zinnia’s shoulder and that single tear enabled him to truly feel what was going on in that moment.

He broke from the chains briefly and pulled from her before biting his lower lip and feigning a distant smile.
“Thank you,” Thomas offered.

What more was there to say?

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He didn't exactly hug her back but Zinnia could understand why. It was a bit odd for her to hug him anyways, considering they were just mere acquaintances after all. But it had felt like the right thing to do. The only thing to really do in such a time. She knew she couldn't really say anything to make it any better. There was no making it better, really. At least, not that she could think of. He'd just lost his father and it was surely a devastating blow. She could hardly imagine how his mother and sister were holding up to it all.

When he did finally move and pulled away from her and offered that small and vacant sort of smile, all she could really do was blink up at him. Surely he wasn't thanking her for hugging him. That would be a bit of an odd thing to do. But then she glanced behind her and saw that the canvas she'd just finished was quite visible from there they stood. Her cheeks flushed in an instant. She hadn't really planned on giving it to him right away and now it just seemed like an awkward time to do so.

"I.. uh.." she started, stammering as she tried to look back to him but ended up glancing to the ground instead. "I've been working on it since I went with you that one afternoon," she answered, taking a step back with her gaze still cast to the ground, "I wasn't really sure if I ought to do it or if you'd even want such a thing." She began making whatever excuse she could in the event it wasn't really something he wanted, even began chewing on her bottom lip as a result. What a fool she was!

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Fab Bee Set!

There really wasn’t much that could be said by way of conversation at this point. Thomas was fixed in place looking – no, staring – at the painting behind the counter. He could hear Zinnia making excuses about it and he could hear the embarrassment permeate through her voice though the Puddlemere United chaser wasn’t thinking on that. He didn’t care for why she had painted it or even if she thought he’d want it or not. His eyes were fixed on his fathers gleaming eyes.

His happy eyes.
As Thomas scanned the painting, a bead of water trickled silently down his cheek and pricked at his cheek causing him to run his hand past his eyes and divert his attention to the girl who had created the work.

“It’s beautiful,” he said quietly, his eyes moving back to watch his fathers smile, “I haven’t seen him looking like that in a long time.”

The chaser then stepped toward the counter and painting – as if he was enchanted by it – before spinning on the balls of his feet and turning back to Zinnia, “Did you know, he used to play for Puddlemere United too? He was a chaser like me,” Thomas exhaled a stifled laugh, “It’s where I get it from. But he wanted me to become a family man – and I ignored him – but that smile,” Thomas pointed briefly at the painting, “that’s the look he had when I got on the team and I’ve never seen him so proud.”

It was a weird sensation; feeling happy whilst sad all at once.
A welcome feeling, though. It was as if this painting had anchored him and he was able to think straight for but a moment. However fleeting it was, Thomas didn’t mind. He was just happy to not be thinking about what was happening right now. He needed a distraction.

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Zinnia looked up eventually, watching him a bit awkwardly and totally unsure of herself or what she should even say. It was an absolutely absurd situation and she was quickly regretting it. She didn't know what he was thinking or if he was upset with her. After all, the painting she'd done wasn't exactly the truth. Or it hadn't been, not when she'd seen his father. She'd barely seen him but she had seen other pictures of the family. She'd taken her own artistic liberties when she'd done it thinking that they had needed something happy. But, perhaps, that was the worst thing she could have done.

But then he was looking at her and talking again. Then looking back to the painting and moving toward it. She took a slight step to the side so that he could approach it and actually be able to look at it without her hindering his progress. She simply stood back then, hands moving behind her back as she twisted them together in an attempt to avoid the anxious nerves she was feeling in that moment. He'd said it was beautiful, that should have been enough, but she feared she was only causing him more pain.

As he spun on his feet and even emitted a bit of a chuckle, her eyes widened in shock. She hadn't expected any of that, hadn't expected that she'd be able to capture such a look of a man she didn't even know. But she could see the happiness it had managed to bring out in Tommy. It was a very distinct memory he was telling her about and she felt a smile slowly making its way over her features as a result. She didn't move though, stayed where she was as she watched him with a soft and meek sort of smile.

"I'm glad you like it," she finally managed to say before motioning to it once more, "It's yours to take."

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Fab Bee Set!

Thomas shook his head.
“Not right now,” he said.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the gesture from her – the painting; it was more that he didn’t think he was ready for it. He knew that he would have to accept the reality of what was happening and not get himself sucked into the falseness of this painting. The only time she had seen him was when he was on his death bed. He was grateful that she had captured his life and accentuated it tenfold but he didn’t want to see it much at the moment.

And in that moment, no sooner had she spoke and as soon as his mouth opened had all happiness once again leapt from his body and vanish into oblivion. He was once again confronted with the reality of it all.

His father was dead and no amount of paint could fix that.

His small smile faded and he spoke, a lot quieter this time with a tone that was almost pleading for help, “What do I do?”

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Zinnia nodded, the easy air in the room all but gone in almost an instant. The shift in his demeanor was almost instantaneous and she found herself regretting her words all over again. As much as he might like the painting, it was obvious it was all still too fresh of a wound to have such a thing around.

"Well," she said softly, chewing on her bottom lip as the guilt came back tenfold, "It'll be here whenever you're ready." What else could she really say? Or do? She was well out of her element, having only dealt with one death in her family and that had been an aunt years prior. And even then it had hardly effected her.

But it was the fading of his smile and the quiet tone that seemed to really hit her in the heart. She didn't know what to say to that but she knew she couldn't not say anything as well. That would only make matters worse, if that was even possible.

"I-I don't know," she answered honestly, wide eyes turning up to him from where she stood, "I think.. I think it's best if you live your life. Keep doing things you know would make him proud." It would be hard, surely, but doing nothing and just floundering in the day to day surely wouldn't do any good. If anything, it'd be even more of a disappointment. Or, at least, that was how she thought on the matter.

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Fab Bee Set!

Keep doing things that would make him proud.
There was something reassuring in those words as she softly spoke; something that he couldn’t quite place his fingers on. They didn’t make him happy; they didn’t calm him or help him to feel like everything was okay. They were just… there. They helped him to see that he could continue and his father, perhaps, was still watching.

Deep down, Thomas knew it was just comforting talk but that’s exactly what it was. It comforted him in that moment and there were no more words to be said, no action that could be taken.

He couldn’t undo what had happened and he couldn’t go back in time to try and change it. He just had to continue and, as Zinnia had said, keep doing things that would make his father proud.

Thomas knew what he needed to do but right now, that was not on the table. He didn’t want to think about it.

And yet, that’s all he could do.

[FIN]

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