Edmond Carey
May 23, 2011 1:02 AM
Normal Again by Edmond Carey
The slight sound of quill on parchment and parchment on table ended as Edmond sat back to read over his letter to Robert, one in which he recounted his week in bland but informative prose and finished with an expression of concern about Robert’s well-being and request for a similar analysis of his week.He admitted it was, perhaps, a bit much to still be worrying about Robert’s health, if complications from the curses they knew about were going to arise, they would have almost certainly done so by now, but he decided to leave it in anyway. Robert was barely seventy-five, and so barely middle aged by the standards of the ruling clique of the family, but he showed it more than most of the other people of that age except the headmaster (and Anthony VI, though Edmond had only seen him a few times and it was rumored that he colored his hair gray to make himself look older than he really was since his father died) that Edmond knew, and when Edmond had been home, he had noticed that Robert still seemed to have some trouble catching his breath sometimes. Adam and Morgaine had agreed, too, that he was more likely to be ill than he had been before. Edmond thought he had the right to be concerned.
He was concerned about Jane, too – now that they were tentatively speaking to each other, if only briefly and nearly in passing, he could see more that she wasn’t quite right, too subdued, but more like she was trying to be subdued than like something really had made her that way – but he had finally decided not to include that. These things, he was starting to realize, were things that it wasn’t really possible to deal with until you were ready yourself to deal with them, and besides, Robert was already worried about one of them. He doubted anyone would thank him for making Robert worry about Jane, too.
Besides, despite his lesser role in his children’s education, Edmond had the distinct impression that Robert was smart. He’d almost certainly already noticed.
Satisfied, he rolled the parchment up, sealed it with his wand, and gave it to Robert’s owl, who’d been hovering in the knowledge that it was reply day and Edmond was supposed to finish his replies by this time. Things were, now that Robert was in full control of the house, not quite as punctual and perfectly routine as they had been before, but the relaxing of standards had only been slight, and since Easter, the letter-writing rituals had grown stricter than ever.
Maybe that wouldn’t last forever, though. Things were…better now. At least, he thought they were, and he didn’t really have anything else to go on besides his opinion. He didn’t seem to be as easily startled as he had been, which was definitely an improvement. Between moments of panic and self-loathing, he’d been distantly irritated about that.
He also knew that someday, there might well be a price to pay. She seemed fond of him in the same general, memory-based way she was fond of Morgaine, but Robert had seemed sure, on that day, that Gwenhwyfar would do whatever worked for her and her best interests. But there weren't many things he could think of that would be too much to ask for making him sane and likely to remain so, so he'd deal with it if it came up and hope until then that it had merely been a gesture of goodwill to a family she didn't really remember.
For now, though, he had finished the letter, and no longer felt like staying in his room. It still wasn’t comfortable. Neither were his other usual haunts – from time to time, and today seemed to be a time, the thought of going into the library made him anxious, somewhere between CATS and knowing that Miss Diaz was out there somewhere, and the Quidditch Pitch…He thought he might have very nearly lost his mind on the Quidditch Pitch not that long ago, and he didn’t spend any more time there than he had to, either. He could only hope that wore off before he started sixth year, because exposure therapy wasn’t something he wished to try. Besides, it had been Crotalus he’d put most of in the hospital; Miss Pierce might not be one of his supporters right now, either. One slightly bitter leftover of the worst of it was a new theory that adults were generally, with the exception of a few great people like his parents, as petty and thoughtless as any first year with a problem with the world.
That left the classrooms or the common room, and the common room seemed better. He thought he might be able to sit for hours and just read without being interrupted, and while being there did indicate not being averse to interacting with other people, the people there were all, with the occasional exception of the twins and Preston, people he had no particular objection to seeing. There were some he actually liked, and none who seemed likely to suddenly become rude or aggressive.
For novelty value, he picked a book off one of the common room shelves at random, only checking that it wasn’t something he had already read. Some of the titles that accumulated here were a little…unusual, not things that most people would read ordinarily, and he had done a good job of enlarging his trivia knowledge over the years. Once he had something that looked at least mildly interesting, he found a seat and began to read, occasionally glancing up to nod, or speak if it was someone he knew a bit better, a greeting to those passing through.
Things were better now.
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Edmond Carey
Normal Again
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Edmond Carey
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