He had nothing to say to that answer, didn’t know if the lack of interest was better or worse than having to disappoint people’s well-meaning interest with disappointing truths. He had never felt so tempted to - go off like his father had, somewhere he knew no one and had never been and where no one would be interested in him.
And then came that question. It was a good question, and he had no idea how to answer it. Yes would have been easy, gone unquestioned, made sense enough to explain away all - this... but no would have been as simple to say and not quite wrong, either. Theodore scratched vigorously at the back of his hand as if he might unearth an answer there. Stupid, stupid, to want to answer honestly just because someone had asked.
“It’s... complicated,” he echoed eventually, stealing Cassius’ word, before looking in surprise at the patch of reddened skin he had just created and covering it with his other hand. “Was complicated,” he corrected automatically. “I was nearly always angry at him for something,” Theo admitted, in pursuit of an explanation. Theo had always made things more difficult for everyone, hadn’t he? He’d always been unhappy about something, never been good with change... when their father had told them about magic after their mother had died; when he had decided to remarry; when he had transformed in the forest and nearly killed him; when he had up and left without warning to let the world call him dead. Until that last, yes, he supposed they had been close. But those were his father’s choices, and he still didn’t have to agree with them.
He made a scoffing noise in his throat, determined not to look Lestrange’s way. “But I miss him, too.”
And then came that question. It was a good question, and he had no idea how to answer it. Yes would have been easy, gone unquestioned, made sense enough to explain away all - this... but no would have been as simple to say and not quite wrong, either. Theodore scratched vigorously at the back of his hand as if he might unearth an answer there. Stupid, stupid, to want to answer honestly just because someone had asked.
“It’s... complicated,” he echoed eventually, stealing Cassius’ word, before looking in surprise at the patch of reddened skin he had just created and covering it with his other hand. “Was complicated,” he corrected automatically. “I was nearly always angry at him for something,” Theo admitted, in pursuit of an explanation. Theo had always made things more difficult for everyone, hadn’t he? He’d always been unhappy about something, never been good with change... when their father had told them about magic after their mother had died; when he had decided to remarry; when he had transformed in the forest and nearly killed him; when he had up and left without warning to let the world call him dead. Until that last, yes, he supposed they had been close. But those were his father’s choices, and he still didn’t have to agree with them.
He made a scoffing noise in his throat, determined not to look Lestrange’s way. “But I miss him, too.”
