Aristide had been in a self-imposed kind of seclusion since the moment he had been able to return home from London after the attacks. He was in misery, drinking more than he usually did and erupting in fits of anger. Mostly, he lay in his bed and wished the world around him would just stop turning. He was vaguely aware of Adrienne's occasional presence but even his twin, the moon to his sun, could not rouse him from his deep, dark misery.

The housekeeper he employed set that days Daily Prophet next to the meal his cook had made for him. He had barely been eating, only picking a bit here and there. He opened the newspaper and read over the names of the deaths. Such careful detail given to various people. And then there was his name, a surge of anger filled him.

He had given more detail than this. He had been badgered by a reporter for more information than this. Yet none of it was used. Asa Scabior was reduced to his name, age and city. Nothing more. He had deserved more. He tore the paper to shreds, breathing heavily as anger surged through every part of his system. He never had been a wrathful type, rarely having gotten angry in his nineteen years of life. It felt unfamiliar but at the same time, it was all he had known since the moment the world had seen fit to take Asa from him.