To the Dust Again I Fell

[Monty Pendleton]

Mother,

Dear Mother,

Mother,

I have spent the better part of two decades deliberating over whether contacting you will bring you great relief or great discomfort. Sometimes I also fear I will arouse neither of those emotions, and that you have since my leaving grown indifferent to my existence. Either way I cannot win. Fear and trepidation haunt me, and to gain disclosure I must risk my happiness in the process.

I often wonder what you must think of me. I sit and tell myself that my actions were justified and their consequences unavoidable, but it does nothing to ease the guilt and pain I felt and continue to feel for walking out. I'm afraid that, whilst it is the least I owe to you, I can never warrant you an explanation. I can only promise you, with the most sincerity and from the deepest place in my heart, that I am sorry. If there was anything at all I could have done to let you know that I had always loved you, I would have done it a thousand times. Believe me when I tell you that I had no choice, for the fear I was running from would have pursued me.

There will be no return address on this letter. For now, I cannot face the torment of awaiting your reply. Even so, I hope that you are well and happy. That is all I ever wished for. Know that I am living a life now with happiness beyond what I knew possible.

Monty.

Richard.

"Incendio." The letter in Monty's hands burst into flames and crumbled to the floor. When it had burnt out, all that remained of his inner most thoughts was a haunted pile of ash, sworn to secrecy by the lick of a flame. He couldn't do it. He would never send that letter to his Mother, no matter how the ache of his heart tried to convince him it was the right thing to do. It had been twenty-seven years since Monty had run away from home, leaving behind an empty bedroom and an empty hole in the heart of his family, and he had written not a single letter to them since.

The silence of the owlery was only disrupted by the soft flapping of downy wings up in the rafters. Monty sat beneath a window ledge and wished his own wings would wrap him up. There was nobody else in the room, and since the sound of approaching footsteps was always amplified up the spiral staircase in the corner, he knew it was safe to cry. He drew his knees into his chest and let the tears melt them. His shoulders shook and his lungs struggled for a proper breath. If Ava had seen him there, he wondered what she'd have thought of him. Professors weren't supposed to cry. But sometimes - just sometimes, and only when nobody was around to see it - Monty did.

He thought about home, and began again the process of trying to justify his selfish decision. Had it all been worth it? But between these thoughts came the plaguing fear of a student discovering him in such a state, until eventually he was forced to dry his eyes. It was just as well he did, because no sooner had begun wiping them on his sleeves than a pair of quick footsteps echoed up the staircase. There was only enough time to lower his hands before the door swung open, and there was still tears on his face and redness in his eyes. He'd briefly considered standing up, but what was the point? I'm not cut out for this job, he thought, and it wasn't for the first time that year.

 

[Damide Snow]

"Come on Louie," said Damide, clicking his tongue at his fat rat who had a nice big letter rolled up in his paws. "You've got to hide, or the owls will eat you." Louie understood, alright, but he wasn't letting that letter go for all the yoghurt drops in the word. The young pair stopped outside of the owlery doors and played tug of war with one another till the Ravenclaw student won, and the rat dove into his robe pocket sulkily.
The moon was high in the sky and it was about fifteen minutes from curfew, but Damide had been pondering this letter all day and knew a few shortcuts to the owlery (as always). Every week he penned a new missive to his father and almost-step mother with the usual drivel: 'I miss you, school is fine, friends are fine, well I'm still working on friends but we're getting there.' Truth to be told, he missed them terribly. He'd never been without his Dada for longer than a few hours at a time for primary school, and he wished he could more readily share all the wonderful things he was learning.

Damide didn't hesitate in opening the owlery door, thinking no one else would be up here at this time of night, so he was shocked and greatly aggrieved to find Professor Pendleton on the other side looking quite as though he'd just as a good cry. The young man immediately plonked himself in the straw and bird muck on the floor in front of his Professor and dug into his robe pocket for a handkerchief to offer, for he was nothing if not pragmatic, and to his horror, Louie slipped out with it and immediately ran up Monty's coat to lick at the salty trails on his face.
"Louie, no!" cried Dami, mortified, but he didn't dare get close enough to pull the rat off. The rodent often dried Damide's tears when he became lonely, so he probably thought he was doing a fine job of human-maintenance, but the boy was left fussing around his Potions professor with a 'kerchief and and terrified look as he considered that Monty might dash his pet to the floor. He doubted it would be deliberate, but most people reacted poorly to supposed vermin touching their skin.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

It was Damide. Without that boy's keen initiative and willingness to help, Monty doubted his house would ever have been reconstructed, and as a result, he owed him dearly. But what he certainly did not owe him was the discomfort of watching his Potions Professor cry. His expression turned pained as the Ravenclaw sat himself down in the straw and offered him a handkerchief. He made no effort to take it - nor to move at all, until the boy's pet rat began to ambush his face with its tongue. Then, fearing more that he might be allergic to rats than of potential germs, Monty slowly lifted his hand to prise the rodent from his face and place him on the floor between them for Damide to retrieve.

This was no way for a Professor to behave. Monty knew it, yet still he could not bring himself to smile. He rested his elbows on his knees and his forehead in his hands and closed his eyes. What he said eventually was, "I'm sorry," and sorry he was. He was sorry that Damide had stumbled across him in such a state. He was sorry that he didn't always feel like the confident, lively Professor that the Ravenclaw knew. Most of all, he was sorry for running away.

Another sob escaped him, and with it Monty felt the last shreds of his dignity fall away. At least to Damide he was more than just a Potions Professor - he was a friend of his family. It softened the humiliation - if only a little. "Sometimes," said Monty hoarsely, wiping at his cheeks again and attempting a smile, "adults miss home, too. That's all." It definitely wasn't all, but it was all the boy would hear. The Professor mustered every ounce of strength he had to hold a brave face, though the sadness didn't leave his demeanour. "Does your rat have a name?"

 

[Damide Snow]

"No, no no no, don't be sorry," burst out the Ravenclaw boy as he beckoned Louie back to him. The rat refused to leave the Potions Professor though, and curled his sleek little body in the man's lap in the only gesture of comfort it knew how to give. Damide felt worse than useless, knotting the handkerchief between his fingers as it was neither accepted nor rejected. He felt somehow responsible, and shamed that he couldn't retreat and leave Professor Pendleton some dignity to grieve on his own for whatever he grieved for. He missed home, Pendleton had said, and as he twisted the letter and the kerchief together, he felt such a profound sense of empathy that he flung himself forward and hugged the adult with all he had.

"That's why I cry, too," he whispered a little tremulously, squeezing Pendleton about the shoulders with his skinny arms. He'd managed to tamp down on his terrible loneliness as the months went past, but it was impossible to hide when someone else suffered so cruelly and couldn't hide theirs as well.
"But I don't think you mean the house, do you, Sir? I don't miss my house so much as I miss the people in it." Damide gave a sniff, and he was embarrassed to realise that he had tears on his cheeks, too. The first year pulled back and sat on his bum again, clicking to the rat who always served his master first, and curled up between the two. "His name is Louie," said Dami, picking at the letter in his hands. "He's my only friend, so far. Now I'm sorry, too." He knuckled at his eyes. "Caught me off guard, Sir. But you're not alone." Damide looked up at him with big dark eyes, and for a moment there was only the soft hooting of owls and the tiny rumble of the bruxing rat on their knees. "Really." He flapped his letter with a wet smile.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Taken aback by Damide's hug and forlorn admission, Monty patted the boy's arm and tried to think of something useful to say. Once again, the Potions Professor had inadvertently become a shoulder to cry on, and he was still no better at consolation for the practice. His throat seemed to be too tight with repressed tears to get any of the right words out anyway. But no sooner had Damide sat back down than Monty's expression shifted from rueful to concerned. He didn't like to hear his students speak of their loneliness - especially not in a castle teaming with potential friends. Regrettably, Monty had been there himself, and he often wondered how much more rewarding his adolescence could have been had he made a little more effort to find company amongst his own year group.

The Professor realised he was beginning to frown and relaxed his brow. "Don't be sorry," he echoed, patting his pockets for a clean handkerchief but then remembering Damide already had one before his endeavour was successful. He turned his attention swiftly back to the Ravenclaw's situation, his own worries now cast aside. "I'm a little concerned by what you're telling me, Damide," Monty began. It wasn't his intention to be so blunt, but it did need to be addressed. "Haven't you tried approaching anyone in your year?"

 

[Damide Snow]

Damide's reaction to Monty's suggestion was as though the Professor had suggested he put his head in a toilet. The only reason he approached other students was to ask them to pass the salt. He wondered what had happened to himself in the school year. His memories of primary school and happy days with his father and step-mother were bright, cheerful and very far away. He recalled trembling with excitement as the Sorting Hat was dropped over his brow, and waving frantically to Desideratus at the Gryffindor table, sure that they were to go on excellent adventures together and become powerful wizards. Instead he'd withdrawn to his studies and avoided the throngs of students, almost impossible to dodge entirely but made easier by his almost obsessive mapping of the school grounds.
Whatever the case, the last person he wanted to talk about his isolation with was a Professor, especially one he respected and wished to be seen as a studious, happy student to. Damide fussed with his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket, looking away from Professor Pendleton almost visibly closing his emotions off.
"No Sir, but I didn't really come here to talk about that. I came here to send a letter home to Dada, Maman and Uncle Greg. They're the ones I miss the most. I'm fine with Louie." He really was, or at least he thought he was, Damide decided. The rat didn't feed him betrayal cupcakes or sit awkwardly across from him at breakfast while they tried to do Astronomy homework together. Louie just did what Damide did and was less complicated. He ate, slept, played and explored. He was easy.
"Are you alright, then?" Damide asked eventually. "I'm sorry that I interrupted you, Sir. If you'd like, I'll let you be and send my letter another night."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty nodded. He didn't believe for a second that Damide was really content to have Louie for his only companion, but getting him to admit otherwise would have been like drawing blood from a stone. In the silence, the Potions Professor pondered over how to go about helping his students. After all, Damide wasn't the only of his pupils feeling so lonely. There was Saveli, and Stella, and a handful more that he could think of right away, all of whom were almost friendless amongst their peers. "Oh, no," said Monty, waving a hand dismissively and climbing tiredly to his feet. "Don't mind me. You send that letter home - and do send them my thanks and best wishes, won't you?" The inventor was certain he would have been homeless had it not been for the kindness of Damide's family and friends, and he intended to express his gratitude at every given opportunity.

Monty brushed the dust from his knees and sat himself at a small desk near the window. "Besides," he said, picking up a quill, "I've got my own letter to rewrite." Truthfully, Monty had no intention of rewriting the letter he'd burned not a few minutes earlier; but he did have a letter to write to someone.

 

[Damide Snow]

Damide once again returned to empathy for his Professor, and he was glad of it for it was much better to focus on the suffering of others than to wallow in self pity. He nodded respectfully and scooped Louie into his pocket again so he could approach one of the school owls. They came readily to his pale little hands since he smelt so delightfully of prey, but the well-groomed male that got there first received an owl treat for his troubles, to the bird's confusion.

He sent the bird off after tying his letter gently onto the bird's leg (which reminded him too much of dinosaur feet to be comforting) and leaned on the windowsill, watching it carry his tenuous contact with his family into the night. The Ravenclaw watched for a while longer as stars began to light the dusky evening, which was peaceful until he realised that it was way past curfew. Toss. Which Professors were on patrol tonight? Damide hurried to the owlery door and peered out into the low-lit staircase, blinking worriedly.
"Professor?" he called back to Monty. "Is there something you can write for me so's I don't get into trouble? I'm sorry, it won't happen again." It absolutely would, but he wouldn't be chatting with a teacher while he was up at night again.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty sat in silence as the blank parchment failed to fill itself with words. There were plenty of things he could have said, but none of them seemed even remotely interesting enough to be written down. Besides, much as he longed to contact Miss Fairebrother (he had been the one to suggest their continued letter writing, after all), he was perpetually plagued by a fear of the consequences should he choose to do so. He hastened to admit that Francine did not seem the type to assume that his motives were anything other than friendly, but correctly deciphering women's intents and emotions was not an area Monty claimed to have a grasp on. Female friends were always the trickiest of all, and as such, the inventor was most often inclined to avoid such communications altogether. As wretched as that was, it was the only way he could ensure that nobody's feelings were hurt.

Monty sighed and lay down his quill. He would reply to Miss Fairebrother's letters - he had pledged his word - but tonight was not the night. The Professor turned his head to Damide's voice and glanced at his pocket watch, before addressing the Ravenclaw with a doubtfully entertained look that said, 'I'll believe that when I see it'. He waved the boy over and picked his quill back up, using the blank parchment to scribble out and sign a small note of exemption for his rule-breaking. Even if he stumbled across Professor Styx, the note would hopefully mitigate Damide's punishment. "Take care," he told the boy before he left, and then just like that, the room fell silent once more, save the softly hooting owls in the rafters. A particularly scruffy tawny owl swooped from its perch to Monty's writing desk, presuming he had a letter to send. Monty laughed lightly and tickled the back of its head. "Not today," he told him. The owl did not move. Monty wondered if it was restless from lack of use - the scrawny thing certainly didn't look like anyone's first choice of mail-carrier. Empathizing, the Professor scribbled down a few words and addressed the very short letter to his own home. The owl squawked with delight and took off into the night, its pointless note dangling from one foot. "I know how you feel," he said to the empty window, and then eventually got up to leave, because all the feathers were starting to make his nose itch.

---

FIN​