August 18th, 1892 — Flint Home

Thaddeus hadn't trusted himself to apparate home, in spite of his own usually cool intellect, he had allowed the aurors office to call him a hackney to bring him home. He also looked a fright, the white of his shirt was stained bright red with blood, he smelled of iron and copper, and his waistcoat was beginning to stiffen as the gore that had permeated it, began to dry invisibly in the black material. His cravat had remained on the boys leg. Thinking on it made him feel hollow and sick all over again.

He pushed open the front door, and the footman stopped short terrified and affronted at the sight of him. He must have looked a nightmare vision in the dim light of the hall. The man stammered in fear, trying to ascertain if his master was injured, but Thad fobbed him off, dispatching him to ensure a bath was drawn, and his room was made up.

Thaddeus scrubbed his face with his hands, and sank down onto the last two stars leading to the first floor*. He had not cried since he was a boy and he honestly felt like he might.

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*2nd floor

Malcorvus Flint

  

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There was little which happened in the Flint Estate Malcorvus didn't hear about, especially something as noteworthy as his son returning home covered in blood. The footman had reported it on his way to prepare a bath but gave little detail about what had happened, only that the young Master wasn't hurt.

Malcorvus could have pressed his servant for more information but doubted the footman actually knew the details. It was clear he would have to find out just what happened and offer what aid he could.

It didn't take him long to locate his son, sitting on the step with his face in his hands. Immediately Malcorvus could see his son's distress and that made him both very concerned and angry at whatever or whoever caused this in Thaddeus. He also noticed how stiff his clothing was and the splashes of blood, now mostly dry over his skin, shirt and cravat.

"Son, what happened?" Malcorvus asked, keeping his voice low. There was no point giving the servants more to whisper about but more importantly for the portrait of his wife to hear something had happened. He didn't want Thaddeus's mother to be worrying.

Thaddeus Flint

  

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Thaddeus's limbs felt weak and robbed of their strength. His forhead was still leaning on his hands. 'There was a man in the park.' he started, 'a young fellow, couldn't be more than 22.' this last was said plaintively. 'He took his own life - no' he furrowed his brow, 'No not his own life, something compelled him, some horrible thing made him take a knife to himself, and carve himself into a pieces.' the horror was clear in his voice. With agitated fingers he unbottoned his waistcoat, sliding itoff his sholders.

The sleeves of his shirt are bright red with blood, the entire way down the front and arms. He was entirely covered, to the point where there was very little white remaining of what had been a crisp starched shirt that morning. 'His beloved was there, ' he didn't know for sure the girl was but they certainly reacted as though that was the case. 'Father he bled to death under my hands.'

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Malcorvus listened stoically, his mind quickly going through all the possibilities as to why a young man would kill themselves in a public place. Thaddeus's description of the young man not seemingly in control of his actions was both concerning. There were a few ways to control the actions of another, the Imperius Curse for one. To use it to force somebody to kill themselves however, would take a wizard of tremendous will.

"If this young man was under the control of another, then there was nothing you could have done," Malcorvus said softly, hoping to ease the feelings of helplessness or guilt his son may be feeling. If he had been there, Malcorvus would have cast a paralyzing curse or something similar but if the young man was under somebody else's control, it may not have mattered. He still knew too little about what happened to know if any of his ideas would have proven effective. Besides, his son may have tried such spells only to have them failed or there wasn't enough time to react.

"Lets get you cleaned up, we can talk more once you've washed the blood off and changed into clean clothing. But first, something strong to fortify you." Malcorvus took out his wand and summoned a bottle of something strong and a glass to go with it. He poured a stiff measure and handed it to Thaddeus. "Drink."

Thaddeus Flint

  

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He took the drink his father offered, it hung from his hand, his forearms resting on his knees at the foot of the stairs. He took another long steadying breath and drained the glass, sucking his teeth, handing the glass back to the elder Malcorvus, before pushing himself to his feet. 'thank you' he said, meaning not just for the drink, but for not mocking his obviously shaken state, for just letting him absorb it. There would be time to dissect what had occurred, and dissect it they surely would. For there had certainly been some form of dark magic in what had occurred today.

Thaddeus was surprised at how shaken he in fact was by the happening. He pushed the suspenders off his shoulders and let them hang lose about his waist. He didn't think there was a point in setting his valet to saving this ensembled. Indeed he planned on taking the whole lot out to the garden in the morning and burning them himself.

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Malcorvus studied his son a moment to determine if a second bracing drink would be needed but didn't think it was. Perhaps after Thaddeus cleaned himself up more drinks would be needed.

"Go clean up son, we'll talk in the parlour once you've changed," he said, gesturing slightly with the hand he held the empty glass in. "There is much to learn about what happened and I think it would be best if we talk about it sooner, rather than later if you feel up to it."

Malcorvus was tempted to head over to Padmore Park and see if he could detect the source of the dark magic used on the young wizard but knew by now the Aurors would be all over the place. Tonight he'll sneak in and look around himself, and put some feelers out to find out whatever he can, to fill any gaps his son isn't able to fill.

  

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Thad nodded, not trusting himself to speak again, but gave his father an appreciative nod, and turned to head up the stairs to his dressing rooms. He looked directly upwards and could see the heads of housemates disappearing over the bannisters. He must have looked a sight, as though he had been out all evening slaughtering pigs.

'with your permission Sir I might head straight to bed, I'm not sure after I change and wash if I will be in much mood for talking.' he explained, begging his fathers indulgence to not return to the parlor. 'I'll take my dinner in my room with a tray.'

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As much as he wanted to learn the details he wasn't about to force Thaddeus to talk, in truth he doubted that would do any good. As much as he wanted to be the parent who takes care of everything, including helping one's son through a traumatic experience, Malcorvus knew Thaddeus was a full grown man and capable of deciding if he wanted to talk about it now or later.

"I'll see to it the servants bring you dinner," Malcorvus responded, giving a nod of his head. "If you change your mind you can find me in my office till 8pm then in the parlour after that."

His nightly routine rarely varied much so he didn't need to let his son know where he could be found. He often worked late in his office, sometimes simply to talk with the portrait of his late wife, but mostly to take care of business. After that he liked to read and have a before bed drink or two. Unless he was researching something, in which case he could be found in the library, his lab or even at the Institute. He had no plans to leave the house this night, however.

"Good night son," he added.

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Thaddeus began the trudge to his rooms on the third floor, for the first time in his life, the path to his rooms felt to far and too much to ask of him. His feet felt heavy and he had never been more grateful for his valets expediency and professionalism, as a dressing coat lay across his bed, and a bin had been laid to the side of the bed in expectation of the clothing being disposed of rather than saved. The man knew his master well.

He peeled off the clothing, and slipped into the steaming bath, the heat dispelling a cold he had not even realised had seeped into his bones. The water was quickly pink and he felt as though he might be the young man in the park, and his relaxing bath became a quick scrub, before he made his way to his own bed.

He lay down, still in his dressing gown, Thaddeus closed his eyes, and hoped the visions wouldn't follow him into sleep

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