The Sawyer House In Appleby, Lincolnshire

"You could have at least named him something else besides Robin."

Rachel Sawyer looked onto her nineteen year old daughter, and now her four month old grandson with a bemused expression on her face. Sophia did indeed up having her baby, and on March 9th she gave birth to her son, Robin Neil Sawyer. Through Rachel's eyes, Robin looked just as funny as his name. Or at least suited his name, anyway.

Robin had dark brown hair, that curled slightly around his face. There was a slight auburn hint to it, like the breast of a robin. Though only a baby, his dark brown eyes were sharp and intelligent. His nose was a Roman, and his mouth was big and funny. But, none of that didn't matter. Robin was a very sweet baby, and a blessed one. Though he was the son of a single teenage mother, he had something that Sophia didn't have: Being around a loving and supporting environment.

However, Sophia didn't take her mother's little joke seriously. On the contrary, she looked up at her with a rather reproachful look.

"I think Robin is perfect for him. Besides, at least I didn't name him like... Zechariah or something weird." Sophia said in a cool voice, as she held onto the swaddled Robin protectively.

"Or Absalom." Rachel had to admit.

There was a brief moment of silence between the two of them. They were just absorbing the day around them. It was a late, hot afternoon in the summer. Birds were chirping, there wasn't a breeze in the air. Victor was hollering about why there wasn't anymore Nutella left. Sweat was dripping down Rachel's neck.

"Well, it is a blessing to have Little Robin with us at last, and delivered so safely. He's the one ray of light in this world, right now." Rachel finally said in a brisk voice.

Sophia reached down and stroked a lock of Robin's hair. "Yes, I agree." As much as she was grateful for her baby, she still didn't think it was quite fair. It wasn't fair that a healthy baby boy, weighing eight pounds and three ounces at birth had to be born into a world gone mad.

A world where Harry Potter, the one figure of hope was assassinated. A world where everyone was behind themselves, and riots were becoming a common occurrence. A world where Robin's grandfather was always in danger.

Sophia looked down at her baby sadly. "...Maybe I should have gotten a-"

"No, don't ever say things like that." Rachel cut in a sharp voice, like a knife.

Robin just gurgled at the two of them.

A large crack, and Kelsi appeared in the entrance hall via apparition. She let out a large wail, and entered the room where they were. "Where's my god-daughter!?" she then stood before Sophia, and sighed greatly. She then gave her the biggest hug. "Sophia, you're beautiful. You've recovered greatly, too. Look at you. Look at him." She sighed with watery eyes. "You're incredibly lucky to have a mother like Rachel. You really, truly, are."

Sophia laughed aloud. "Don't I know it?! She's a hero!" From the side, Rachel had a rather smug smile on her face. She was flattered easily, especially as she has grown older.

After stroking his hair one more time, Sophia looked up at Kelsi with a blissful smile on her face.

"You can hold him, if you want. He likes people." She offered politely.

Kelsi's eyes warmed instantly. She always had such a soft spot for infants and children. "You know, I remember a moment just like this, nineteen years ago. I stood before your mother, right in this exact spot, and she asked me if I wanted to to hold you, then asked if I wanted to be your god mother. And well, I said yes, Sophia. This just brings back so many memories." she said, and her eyes teared up.

Sophia laughed aloud. "Oh, don't cry, Kelsi! You're embarrassing me. And probably my mother, too. But you are truly a wonderful woman... and Robin thinks so, too." And Sophia gently held up her child, who stared at Kelsi with an odd sort of thoughtfulness in his eyes.

"Oh my God I love this kid already." Kelsi then took him gently from Sophia's arms, and snuggled him to her cheek. "This makes me want another child, you know.."

"Oh no you don't! You already have four of them. You don't want to end up like my mum." And Rachel shot a rather nasty glare at her, though Sophia was only teasing.

Kelsi smiled. "My favorite part is this." she said softly. "Before the character kicks in," she said bitterly. "Sadly, each one of my kids have quite character. Brian's just like Derek and Cam when they were younger, he's just a little slower. Oh, Rachel. He's getting better," she said, and then legitly started to cry.

Around three or four times per lifetime, a person just hits rock bottom. They just hit the depths of despair, feeling as though they had absolutely nowhere to turn to. There is nothing to look forward to, nothing to look back open. Life, to be blatant, simply sucks.

Today, that happened to Rachel.

It was around, eighty-thirty in the morning, just after breakfast. The kitchen was quiet, with a soft breeze coming in through an open window. Sophia was out taking a walk around the grounds of their house with Hayley at her side and baby Robin in a pram. A whistle was on Rachel's lips, as she flicked her wand to get the dishes going.

As the dishes began to wash themselves, and she had just picked up the dishcloth to dry them, she suddenly stopped everything she was doing. Her head suddenly became dizzy, and everything in her vision began to swirl around her. She felt as though she was going to vomit everything she had consumed in the past three days. Best she could, Rachel stumbled over to the nearest chair, breathing heavily.

"Oh God, I'm going to die," Was all that her mind could process. That same message over and over again continuously.

Suddenly, that thought stopped playing in her head, and she felt just fine. But, she shut her eyes and groaned loudly.

"What the hell am I doing with my life?!" she yelled, her voice full of wrath.

That was the question indeed. What was she doing? How the hell did she, Rachel Moreno, a bright and pretty young girl end up becoming an overworked maid with seven kids?

Rachel was ambitious. Rachel was bright. She could have been something. She could have been an Auror. She could have been an astronomer. Rachel could have been famous for being famous. She could haev been married to a glamorous man, with Witches' Weakly clinging onto every word she said and her every action.

No, fate handed her a mop, a cookbook, and of course-those seven darling children instead.

"Really, I should have been the one killed. At least Karin would have done something with her life." Rachel thought darkly to herself.

But two things had kept her life: And that was the sex and the drinking. The sex for obvious reasons-it gave her pleasure, and made her feel rather like a teenager again. But, knowing her look, nine months later another stupid brat would have to be pushed out. So, to keep her misery at bay, every other night, Rachel would float on the bubbles of Happy Hour. But lately, things have been changing. Nick seemed less and less interest in initiating sex, and the complaints of Rachel's drinking kept stacking.

In the background, she heard two girls laughing. Her girls. Sophia and Hayley.

Rachel actually spat on the ground, not caring that was another mess for her to clean up lately. Those stupid prats. Those fucking stupid prats scribbling out the last potential had of living a happy life. All of them were a fucking dumb waste of money. Rachel quietly cursed a life of unhappiness like the one she led for all of them.

But, the laughter just became louder from outside, and Rachel's fury overtook her. She grabbed one of the dishes that was in the process of washing itself, and she smashed it to the floor. It proceeded to shatter in hundreds of pieces of white glass.

"I'm thirty-nine years old, and that's all I can show for myself!" she announced, half screaming.

She picked up another plate.

Upstairs in the master bathroom stood a half-dressed man, shaving. Carefully, turning his face this way and that, he shed all of the hair off of his face, leaving a clean, smooth surface. Or, partially smooth. This man stopped for a moment, and caught himself--was that REALLY him?

His jaw dropped ever-so-slightly as he beheld his aged face. Nicolas Sawyer was barely forty years old and his face was showing quite a few wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. His golden blonde hair had faded, and was rather pale with flecks of gray. All of the stress from having to juggle such a job and family life (given, if one of them were taken out, aging would be more kind to Nicolas--and he wouldn't feel as stressed all of the time).

He reached up and touched his hair--the man in the mirror did as well. Both faces displayed a look of awe at the fact that said hair was actually gray. Nicolas Sawyer looked straight into the dark, muddled brown eyes that were reflected unto the mirror's surface. Such eyes used to sparkle and shine with a childlike innocence, and now they were clouded with guilt and sorrow. A plate shattered downstairs, and he tore his eyes away from the mirror to finish getting dressed, and quickly headed downstairs.

"Honey? Are you okay?" he asked, and, noticing that she had voluntarily just smashed another plate, figured she was pretty upset about something.

Upon hearing the voice of her husband-her wretched husband that contributed so much to her pain, she was about to spew angry words at him. This was usually how these sort of things went down. Then he would get mad at her, and before long, they would be in the middle of a huge fight.

Rachel whirled around, with her face already red and hot. She was about to open her mouth to yell at him, but she stopped, and look at him. She really studied him. The wrinkles etched in around his face. The delicate worry lines above his eyebrows. The thin stature from overworking. The gray hair where in ten years it would be white as snow. The lusterless eyes.

Time was cruel to Rachel's husband. But time wasn't the only thing.

Rachel slowly walked over to Nicolas, ignoring the shattered pieces of glass on the floor. She wrapped his arms around her, until they were in a rather awkward hug, not unlike how they did as teens.

She quietly cleared her throat, and in a slow, shaking voice, she whispered to him.

"I-I'm sorry I ruined your life..." she mumbled quietly. She sounded like she might begin to cry.

Nicolas wrapped his arms tightly around his wife, who wasn't that much smaller than he was. Stroking her hair gently, he murmured to her, "You didn't. Don't you dare say such a thing."

"No, I... I.. did!" Rachel pulled away from him. Rachel was crying, now. And, she didn't cry at all like a romantic heroine or anything. Her face was all red and blotchy, with salty tears running down her cheeks. She pointed up at his hair, with her finger visibly trembling.

"L-look at you! I t-took away your youth! You could have been something! You don't deserve to live in this dingy house, being the father of seven kids and..." Rachel's voice lowered, as she lowered her finger.

"And, you don't deserved to be married to me... I ruined your life."

Nicolas unconsciously reached up to touch his hair. "This would have all happened sooner or later," he said absently. He pulled himself together, trying not to let a few silver hairs get the best of him, and reached out, holding her shoulders in his hands. "Listen to me. Everything I have done has been my choice. I could have walked out on you the moment you told me you wanted to make love for the first time, or during the battle, or when you told me you were pregnant with Sophia, or when we were forced to stay in that mangy flat in Diagon Alley! I could have left and started up a different kind of life dozens of times throughout our journey, Rachel. But it's our journey. I've stayed with you through the kids and the pregnancies and the kids' pregnancies because I love you more than anything else in the world, more than pride, more than a lavish house, more than extra money in the back of our pockets, so don't try to tell me that you've ruined my life, because you haven't--you've made it one hell of a ride." A grin broke out across his face as he took Rachel's hands in his. "From that awkward first kiss in the stairwells of Hogwarts to right this present moment I've never stopped loving you, and nobody, not even my parents or Katherine or Eric or Max, has ever been able to make me happier than you and the kids."

"I..." But there was nothing Rachel could say. For once, she had absolutely no take on what her husband had said. Instead, she embraced him again. She liked the feeling of his hands wrapped around her body, the soft sound oh his heart beating and his breathing, his natural scent...

Rachel slowly shut her eyes, and stood there with him. Maybe, she thought, If I stand here, and shut my eyes, we'll be teenagers again... innocent and without a care.

The two began to sway a little. Sort of like a slow dance.

Music was playing somewhere outside. It was lovely slow music.

(starts sobbing at the previous posts omg)


He'd been planning to arrive first thing in the morning in hopes of catching her after church, but that hadn't worked out. He'd spent far too long pining in spite of himself and wavering on whether or not he should even live to see the next day. Haha fuck this post. There was a knock on the door.

"Coming!"

Sophia's lively voice rang through the house. In only the manner of minutes, she had opened the door, and her smile quickly melted away.

Hugh? What did that Earth Worm want with her? Especially that rather unfortunate meeting at that dreary little cafe.

And she inquired him about just that.

Hugh wasn't any taller; in fact, he may have been a centimetre or two shorter. He'd cut his hair, however; this also may have contributed to his lack of stature. Moreover, he had something of a beard, which he would never once think to blame on his paranoia of the higher law finding about about his more prominent transgressions, but which anyone who knew a single thing about Hugh could have easily judged to be true. At the sight of her, he nearly swooned into oblivion. Poor lad. "Hi," he managed. "I... don't know?" Why was he there, again? Was there a reason? Of course there was!

"Well, do you want to see our son, then? Here-why don't you come in."

Almost immediately, Sophia had set a kettle upon the stove which was soon whistling cheerful in a few moments time. Getting out two teacups, she had poured the steaming Earl Grey Tea, and set them on the kitchen table.

"There's some milk and sugar on the table, if you want," And Sophia slipped upstairs.

It was a sight to see Sophia to turn into someone not unlike her mother. In fact, as she brought in a little Robin who was toddling all around the place, it appeared as though that would be her destiny.

The reason still eluded him. Hugh stared into the teacup, as though searching for it amidst the steam, or perhaps hidden in the paper lining of the bag. The boy was looking well, he thought. Couldn't help but almost -- almost -- smile, immediately stifled by a timely sip of earl grey. Oh, foul stuff.

"He kind of looks like you..." Sophia squinted a bit, as she studied her son. Robin, in the meantime, was tugging at Hugh's jumper for the fun of it.

"He has your nose, anyway. And he has your eye color." Sophia offered. It wasn't a whole lot, but hey.

Upstairs in a half-molded-over bathroom stood an old man. He had come to the realization that he was old several years ago, about the same time that he realized that the love he manifested for his wife was a sympathetic sort of love--the only reason he lived and copulated with her still was due to the many offspring that had been produced due to their young infatuation with one another. He had played along with his Catholic sweetheart's disdain for any sort of contraceptives, believing that, yes, it was possible to hold down a rigorous law enforcement job while keeping a stellar relationship with your family. But, alas, it wasn't possible--and he had realized this in his mid-twenties as his kids were growing up and going to primary school right before his eyes, and he was too tired to help them with their homework or talk them through their meager kid problems with that boy in class that won't stop pulling hair. He realized that, despite his fatigue, in order to keep his burgeoning family alive and well, he needed to maintain and do well in this job, as his wife was a stay-at-home mother with no life goals whatsoever, and there was no way that that would ever change. As a young adult he plowed through his minor depression, his youthfulness allowing him to persevere on with relative ease. But around his late thirties, this man realized that his fatigue was never subsiding, and most of it was plain lethargy from an increasingly dark depression that he was seceding into. His work as a law enforcement officer wasn't even redeeming, anymore. The feeling of assisting civilians that so nourished his soul and kept him going for so long was gone, and he could barely have a civil conversation with anyone in the office. He kept his words to a minimum--at home and at the office. Nothing of what he said mattered, anyway. He had a shitty boss and a shitty wife, neither of whom cared for what he had to say. This man was useless. Absolutely useless. As his thirties came to a close he realized this, and he stopped feeling happy in his life at all. Sure, he put on a fake smile for his kids, but as he crossed the threshold of forty, even those brought very little joy to him. His wife, his kids; they were burdens. They drained his hard-earned money almost as fast as he could earn it, and he realized that he was the pillar of the household, and the thought of letting his kids down kept him going longer than anything else had; but, that had to come to an end at some point.

Just like everything good in his life had.

The man stared in the mirror and saw a withered face, littered with wrinkles suited for a man much older than he. His eyes were sullen and vague, having lost their youthful shine many, many years ago. This was the face of a manically depressed man that was tired of hiding from his always-drunken wife and increasingly angsty kids, one of whom had been knocked up by some asshole and had a kid at the exact same age his wife did. This man finally reached the point at which nothing in this life mattered to him anymore, nothing in this house meant anything, and it was time for him to take action and leave the vacuum that the past 20 years of his life had disappeared into. The man left the bathroom, and began throwing things into a trunk. Clothes. Old scrapbooks (he did have some semblance of a life before all of this mess; perhaps he could reunite with old friends from school). Dusty novels off of his "must-read" shelf, put up there God-knows-how-long ago. Several bottles of alcohol hidden beneath his trousers in a drawer. He kept packing to a minimum, leaving room for travel flexibility.

Almost unconsciously, he took out a quill and a piece of parchment, and with a shaky hand, Nicolas Sawyer wrote a letter to his wife.

Rachel,

This past half of my life has been the worst I could have ever imagined. If I could go back in time and choose whether or not to have sex with you in that broomstick cupboard on May 2nd, 1997, I would re-live that entire day. I would have never had sex with you that eve and, if given the choice, I would have never impregnated you or chosen to become an adult so early in my life. Being a parent at 18 was one of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make, and, at the time, I felt a sense of redemption. I was being the good guy, staying with the failure of a young adult, going to work and bringing home bacon for our little family. It felt good, at the time.

But then, Rachel, you took everything from me. You stripped me of my pride and my dignity, but I went along with it because I was helplessly in love with you, and I remained helplessly in love with you for several years too many. I gave up my life for you, and all you've done to repay me is birth several angsty brats, one of which has taken after your actions and gone and wrecked her own life. I blame myself for not being more present in her life, for always being at work--or, at least, I would blame myself, if it weren't for that I had to go to work to feed your ungrateful ass.

You took everything from me, fiscally. Not once have I ever had a say in any major financial decisions we've made post-marriage, Rachel. And no matter how many times I would explain it to you that, yes, I am your husband and I should have an equal say, nothing ever got through your thick skull. But I was stupid, and, again, I was helplessly in love.

I stopped being helplessly in love many years ago. I stopped being in love a few years ago. I stopped tolerating you years ago. I started wishing death upon you after I lost empathy for our children, which, to be frankly honest, has been the only reason I've stayed with you for the past ten years or so. I wanted our children to grow up with two parental figures--two responsible ones.

I don't know when I stopped caring, and I don't care about when I stopped caring, because I'm leaving all of this behind. This mess of a "family," "home," or whatever you want to call it--it's not home. It's not what I envisioned when I embarked on the path of courting and then marrying you, or when I married anyone at all. Rachel, I hate my life. I hate you. I hate myself and the person I've become. I'm going away, and right now I'm honestly not sure if I'll ever come back. Let the kids think what they may. To be frank, Rachel, I honestly don't give one single fuck.

Do not try to contact me. Do not try to find me. Do not encourage the kids to do either of those things. Do not continue living the way you are. Do something with your life, for once, you worthless piece of shit, because I quit my job and took all of the money out of our joint Gringott's account. I am filing for divorce as soon as I find a place to stay.

Enjoy the rest of your life. I hope with all of my broken heart that I will find happiness in mine.

Good-bye.

Nicolas

He left the note on the bed, on his pillow, and, with a loud crack, was gone.

The next morning, Anthony was enjoying a smoke outside, in his backyard. He was watching two of their immensely chickens squabble over a bug. Much like his mother and father over everything. He be blew a shoddy smoke ring, and poked his finger through it.

Yes, he knew it. Everyone knew. No, none of them actually read the letter firsthand, but judging by their father's extended absence and their mother's deafening sobs that rang through the night. Their dad had left them.

Whatever.

He breathed in the cigarette, and let out the smoke, not bothering to attempt another smoke ring.

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn't very concerned about his father leaving. No, it wasn't like he was actually "there" for him. Or any of them. He was too busy working, sleeping, or getting drunk. At least his mum could cook for them.

No, what he was concerned was the money issue. He simply assumed that his dad took all of his money with him. How would his mum feed them? Pay the bills? Sophia was living on her own with Robin, with a job. Living her life. Anthony knew that Sophia wouldn't send them money.

Ah, whatever.

While Anthony was mulling all of this over, Rachel slipped out into the backyard, and sat beside her son. Her face was bright red and blotchy, her red hair nothing more but a messy frizz, her eyes bloodshot. Glancing over at her, Anthony never realized how ugly his mum was until now.

They were quiet, not saying a word to each other.

Rachel noticed that her son was having a smoke, but she didn't say anything about until a minute later. She looked over at him.

"Hey, pass me a fag." said mumbled quietly.

Anthony obligated, and passed her the cigarette box. It was the least he could do.

Rachel popped it in her mouth, and immediately began to smoke it (Wizarding cigarettes didn't need to be lighted). She blew a smoke ring, and poked a hole through it.

They sat there, trying to enjoy each other's company the best they could.

When she had smoked the cigarette, Rachel threw into a nearby, rusted over cauldron that served as a makeshift ashtray.

With a long sigh, she stood up.

"We're going to leave, Anthony. All of us. Start packing up." And she walked back into the house.

Anthony did not know what she meant by this, and he picked up another cigarette.