Vertigo

[Jon Phillips]

It had been almost an entire year since Cess announced she was pregnant with her new child, which meant it had been almost a year of Jon feeling a mixed of alienated and replaced by his family. The recent revelations involving his late father and family history certainly did not help this, and Jon, who had always faced issues with identity and was a mess of anxiety and extreme introversion to begin with, was left to wallow in his sorrows alone whether he wanted to or not. The professor was more than aware that christmas, the anniversary of his new found problems, was crawling closer by the day and it did nothing to help his anxieties that seemed to be worsening in synchronization with it. Gradually, his usual routine and coping mechanisms of an extra few glasses of gin and tonic in the evenings while losing himself within the stories in his video games didn't suffice to tide him over and help him feel a sense of normal. He felt as if he was slowly going insane from everything he was feeling, and that night it seemed to have reached a boiling point where he could no longer bottle everything up for everyone else's benefit. In the midst of slight drunkenness, on a whim fueled by dutch courage, Jon needed to speak to someone, and he needed to do so immediately.

So on such a whim he had scribbled down a poorly constructed note, with an equally poorly written address and directions to his house, to send to Monty Pendleton. A colleague and by Jon's definition, a friend, as he both trusted the man and respected him. On numerous occasions throughout the year, Monty had offered his shoulder to Jon, saying that he could contact him if it was ever needed and on each of those occasions Jon had kindly refused due to an overriding fear of being a burden on the other man. That night had a very different set of circumstances, with the extra alcohol in Jon's system and his worries becoming all too much for him to handle so contacting Monty seemed like a good idea, and a necessary one at that. Jon began to feel apprehensive to send the note after it was written, though managed to swallow the feeling before he sent it, using an owl he had hired earlier in the semester to contact students about classes. As he waited for a response he slouched onto his sofa, feeling as if he was sinking into the cushions as his dog jumped up to lay next to him.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty was walking idly through Obsidian Harbour when Jon's owl reached him. It descended from the overcast sky and came to a clattering land on an iron signpost advertising half-price brookstick repair kits, hooting expectantly at the startled professor. Spying his name on the envelope he tucked several coins into the pouch attached to the bird's foot before prising the parchment from its beak. The tawny creature gave a haughty ruffle of its feathers before taking off again, so abruptly that Monty had to duck as not to get a face full of wing. Who on earth would be writing to him? It certainly wasn't Ava's handwriting; he knew hers well enough. Frowning, he slipped open the envelope and unfolded the letter inside, the noise and bustle of the street fading to the back of his consciousness as he read. It was Jonathon, and his writing was so disjointed that Monty immediately became concerned. His Christmas shopping could wait until another day.

Slipping the letter into his pocket, Monty apparated to the nearest landmark to Jon's house he could think of. Having never been to his younger colleague's home before, he could not simply apparate to his doorstep, which meant that he had to walk for at least twenty minutes, following the rather confusing directions Jon had supplied him in his letter. Eventually, after he'd taken three wrong turns and gotten himself stunningly lost, he made it to the house and knocked on the door.

 

[Jon Phillips]

As Jon waited for a response to his letter, he closed his eyes, unconsciously leaning his weight further into the sofa while he lifted a hand to scratch behind his dog's ears. Waiting without anything to occupy his mind besides the obvious feeling of disorientation caused by the alcohol running through his veins, and the welcomed affection from Bongo caused Jon to worry further that Monty would deny his request, or even outright ignore it for the fact it was so inconvenient. Refusing to show up to his house began to make more sense with every minute that passed as Jon began to realize how horribly written (and explained) his directions were, and how sudden and unrealistic of a request it was to ask the older man to visit his home on a whim. Monty could have been preoccupied with something more important for all he knew, something that might not have needed, or could be completely ruined by the interruption that was his letter.

Jon moved his free hand to his face, cringing underneath his palm as this thought run rampant in his mind. Luckily he was soon distracted from this his qualms by the sound of a knock on his door. Bongo immediately jumped off the sofa, bounding towards the noise and Jon eventually stood up in a delayed reaction partially caused by disbelief but mostly caused by the affects of the alcohol. He walked over to the door, smiling a wide, dopey grin when he saw Monty on the other side of the glass paneling. As he opened the door, he stepped front of Bongo so the dog wouldn't run out to greet Monty. As affectionate as the creature was, Jon didn't feel like coaxing him back inside and was glad when Bongo didn't attempt to ran past him in an effort to smell the new guest. "Hey. Sorry to be annoying and stuff." Jon said, opening the door even further to allow Monty to walk inside. "Come in, bro. I'm a little drunk, if you couldn't tell."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty took a polite step back as the door opened, and then briefly struggled to take it forward again. Behind Jon, whose appearance was a little dishevelled, there stood the world's most enormous dog. Quite frankly, it was closer in resemblance to a bear than a canine, with a coat so thick it could surely have withstood the Antarctic climate. Monty looked at the dog, and at Jon, and at the dog again before finally coming around to his senses and stepping inside. He skirted past the Newfoundland, attempting to position himself in such a way that it would stay behind its owner. "No, no - you aren't at all, Jon," he said, throwing the dog wary glances. His main concern, of course, was still Jon, and his drunken state was somewhat alarming. "Are you all right? Has something happened?"

 

[Jon Phillips]

Bongo continued to wag his tail, watching curiously behind Jon while Monty entered the house. It took a moment for the younger professor to notice Monty's weary glances towards the dog but when he noticed them he quickly commented. "Oh. This is Bongo. He's big but he wouldn't hurt a fly, don't worry." As he spoke he shut and locked the front door. Bongo walked towards Monty and sniffed curiously at the man's shoes before losing interest and moving to slump on a nearby dog bed. "He's the chillest dog ever." Jon added, running a hand through his hair and averting his gaze to the floor when Monty asked what was wrong. He was both at a loss of where to begin and what parts of it he needed to share. But he did know that everything was a mess and he needed to get it out of his head somehow to save himself from going mad. "Yeah, something has happened. But everything else has gotten worse at the same time and it's just a mess of crap that I can't deal with. I don't know where to start." His hand moved from his hair to cover his face. He stood in silence for a few moments, thinking about how he should bring everything up before eventually deciding it would be easier with another drink in his system. "Ugh, I'm getting another drink. Do you want anything? I have tea in the cupboards somewhere." Jon told Monty as he turned around, walking into the open plan kitchen and refilling his glass with another helping of gin. ​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty tensed as the giant dog padded over, on Jon's word trusting it not to hurt him. The last person with whom the professor had shared his unfortunate childhood experience had simply laughed at him, and consequently he had buried it like a terrible secret. Jon was kind, and sympathetic, but even still the risk was not one worth taking. Once Bongo lost interest, Monty's shoulders softened. He watched his colleague steadily, offering an unimposing gaze and a calm expression. "That's okay," he said. "Take your time. I can stay for as long as you need me."

Monty followed Jon tentatively into the kitchen. "Uh, a tea would be lovely, thank you," he said, wondering how many drinks his friend had had already. It wasn't his place to judge. Not in the slightest. To do so would have been hypocritical. But he did worry for Jon, as naturally he would, the Muggle Studies professor being nearly young enough to be his son. Keeping one eye on the sleeping dog, Monty waited for Jon to finish preparing the drinks. "Bongo's a very curious name," he said, smiling. "Excellent, but curious. What made you choose it?"

 

[Jon Phillips]

Jon was clearly drunk, affected heavily by the drinks already in his system, but he was under the belief another drink would help his condition. He was also comforted by the way Monty spoke to him in a tone that was not only reassuring, but unimposing. If Jon didn't appreciate Monty already, he would have in that moment because not even Samuel, his own brother, would have treated him with such kindness in his messy state. This was a moment of need for him despite how much he refused to believe it, and Monty's presence and kind tone of voice alone was helping him. After pouring his drink and adding more ice cubes to the glass he knelt down, opening one of the draws and pulling out a small box of tea bags. Sam kept them for whenever Charlotte was around, but Jon was sure he wouldn't mind him borrowing one for his guest. He put the kettle he owned onto boil and waited, using the spare time to answer Monty's question. "This is going to sound dumb, but I named him Bongo because when he sits and wags his tail, it sounds like a drum." He giggled after the words left his mouth. It never sounded normal but it was the reason, regardless of how stupid it sounded.

The kettle soon boiled and Jon poured the hot water into the mug with the teabag, moving the small pot of sugar to the cup and retrieving the milk when the water was added. "Add whatever you need, alright." He said, brushing off the rest of the tea so Monty could make it how he wanted. He then picked up his glass of gin, generously sipping from it and sighing when the bitter, alcoholic liquid ran down his throat. He immediately felt more comfortable with the drink in his hands, even if it was yet to affect him. He soon opened his mouth to tell Monty all about his problems as he walked towards the sofa, falling onto the soft cushions and assuming the older professor would join him. "So my half sister is now born, my mum as forgotten me, and I even found that Eduardo is my cousin. My father was a triplet or something and they had this big feud. I still don't really know what happened, but I know what my surname should be and that I have extended family I never knew about." He shrugged when he finished speaking, and sipped at his drink again. If he were sober he would have held back. But in that moment he was far from sober and even further from holding back the truth for the sake of his colleague. "So basically, who I thought I was didn't matter. I will never be confident and I will never know who I am and no one will care who I am. You know?" He asked, sipping again from his drink as he waited for a response.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty laughed. "That's brilliant," he said, glancing across to where Bongo lay. He didn't seem half as threatening now the Potions Professor knew the origin of his name - though it did also help that the Newfoundland had his head on his paws and his eyes soundly shut. Monty thanked Jon for the tea, adding a sugar and milk and giving it a stir with his wand. When he sipped the scalding liquid he felt it pass a lump in his throat.

With an air of apprehension the elder man followed his colleague to the living room, cupping his tea so that the heat against his palm would distract him from the tremor in his chest. He couldn't guess what Jon had invited him over to discuss, but by the urgent tone in his letter he presumed it serious. He took a seat on the very edge of the cushion, angling his body toward Jonathon whilst leaving a respectable distance between them. As he listened, his heartbeat crept into his throat. Eduardo was Jon's cousin? His surname ought to have been different? At length Monty could sympathise, and he cupped his tea a little tighter. "Oh, Jon," he said. "Do you know, I completely understand. That's a tremendously stressful piece of news to receive. But I care. I care, Jon, and I cannot believe I'm the only one. You have such a long life ahead of you. Every day that you face your fears you are gaining confidence. And your name... your name is such a tiny, tiny part of your identity, Jon. Excuse me for quoting Shakespeare, but a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. When... when I was young - younger than you - I changed my name. I used to be called Richard, Richard Hewitt. It took me some time to adjust to a title that hadn't been attached to me since birth. I felt... lost. As if I wasn't certain of my own identity. And if I couldn't be certain who I was, how could anybody else? But really, it doesn't matter. I'm still me, whether I'm a Richard Hewitt or a Montgomery Pendleton. And you're you. Nobody else can claim that. You're lovely, Jon. You're kind, and patient, and the children can always count on you for support. This doesn't define you. I promise."

 

[Jon Phillips]

Jon's chest grew tighter with worry as he said everything that was plaguing his mind. He drowned the feeling with another mouthful of his drink and slouched further into the cushions of his sofa as he stared at the ceiling, hoping Monty wouldn't judge him for everything he was saying. He continued to cradle his drink between his hands as Monty responded, blinking back tears that appeared suddenly as he did so. It was always surprising to be told he was cared about, that he was wanted, even if it was told to him by a friend. In the back of his mind he knew that it was all true but the forefront of his mind that held all of his worries forced him to believe otherwise. That he was bothering everyone and he should bottle everything up regardless of his better judgement. It was why he had kept everything in for so long and why even in that moment, Jon thought he was bothering the other professor despite the reassurance this was not the case.

"Richard Hewitt?" Jon asked, shaking his head when Monty finished speaking. He unconsciously leaned towards the man, unsure of how else he should respond. There was a countless list of questions forming in his mind, all of which he wanted to ask but he did not know where to start or even if he should have started as it was all so personal to the both of them. He sighed and sipped again from his drink, reeling in the generous serving of gin he poured himself before he shuffled even closer to Monty and smiled admirably as he spoke. "You changed your name? I know you said that identity is not important, or whatever. But do you think I should change my name?" Jon asked. He looked up to Monty, in ways he didn't even understand and more than he was willing to admit, even while drunk. The many other questions he wanted to ask floated in his mind but he assured himself they were better due to be asked later. Instead Jon simply sipped from his drink again, allowing the alcohol to further dull his senses as he continued to lean closer, waiting for a response. ​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty flinched at the unexpected repetition of his previous name. His stepfather's name. When it had come to changing his own to Montgomery Pendleton, the question of whether or not his decision had been the right one had scarcely crossed his mind. He still felt the occasional pang of guilt for estranging himself from his mother, who, as a Muggle, would have been powerless to find him even had she been aware of his change of name, but as necessity had called for it he had slowly begun to forgive himself. The pain of ever speaking to his mother again was almost more than he could bear even at forty-four. Thirty years ago, when he had had not the resources to cope with such emotional turmoil, it might well have broken him.

The Potions Professor looked down at his tea, giving a small shrug and fighting his instinct to edge away from Jonathon. "I think..." He cleared his throat. "I think the only person who can answer that question is you. If it feels right, you'll know it. If it doesn't... don't try to force it to. You have all the time in the world to make a decision about this. And things might seem a little clearer once the initial upset has settled. Presently, the only thing that matters is that you know that you matter." Monty smiled, reaching out to place a hand on Jonathon's back. It went against everything he understood, but if Jon found the gesture comforting, he was willing to make that sacrifice.

 

[Jon Phillips]

Richard Hewitt was not a name Jon would expect to fit behind Monty's face or personality. It could have been nothing but the simple fact that Jon had never known Monty as anyone else and the name he had known did stick, but it could have also been that the name Richard was too boring for someone as interesting as Monty. Such a mundane name didn't do the kind man sitting on the sofa with him any justice, and instead seemed like an insult to how unique Monty truly was. But no matter the reason Jon thought the name Richard Hewitt didn't fit, it had been Monty's at one point and did prove that a name was only part of an identity, not the representation of one. Jon nodded at Monty's words, understanding what he meant though was distracted by the headiness in his drink as it began to hit him and quickly leant forward to put his glass on the coffee table, not wanting to get too drunk while in his friends' presence. He immediately regretted the action when he felt his head spin with each of his movements.

Jon leant back against the sofa, held his hand over his face, and sighed. "Sorry about this." He said before leaning forward again. Monty was being comforting as ever and it was everything Jon needed in this moment of vulnerability - he didn't want to ruin the memory of the advice he was being given, or act like he was ungrateful because he was too affected by the alcohol in his system to say thank you. Monty simply arriving to see him that night had helped him, even if the gesture might have seemed small to other people. The action itself showed Jon that someone did care about him and that he was thought of in a time where he felt invisible despite his mind constantly convincing him otherwise. The hand Jon felt on his back only made him feel more comforted in that moment. "Thanks for being here for me. You're a good friend, Monty." Jon gave Monty a dopey grin, then frowned when the thought that Monty had something better to do returned to his mind. He had forgotten his worries about his sudden invitation when Monty arrived and felt the need to apologize again if he had disturbed his schedule. "I'm sorry if you have something better to do."​