Closed What Did You Call Me?

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty was only half sure that Wendall actually wanted to borrow his toolbox, and about ninety percent sure the man was going to injure himself if he actually used it, but he was happy to feel useful all the same. He’d stopped questioning whether Wendall and Mary Lou really needed his help with all their DIY projects when he’d realised he didn’t much care either way. If they wanted to make him feel included then, well, their consideration was enough to brighten his day. As long as they didn’t start feeling sorry for him, of course. There was no need for that. He was perfectly all right, most of the time.

There was a familiar knock at the door. Monty answered it with a flourish, as he’d so liked to do when Wendall was a young boy knocking on his office door. “Hello! Come in,” he said, beckoning him through to the kitchen. His tools were sitting out on the countertop. “Would you like a cup of tea? Sorry - move that out of the way. I wasn’t sure which ones you’d used before. I thought I could give you a rundown, if it might be useful. What are you making, anyway?”

 

[Wendall Layton]

Wendall had knocked confidentially on Monty's correct door; he was no longer the naive child who didn't know what he was doing. He was a mess though, and the former Hufflepuff just had to hope that Monty wouldn't mind, after all he'd be returning to the job at hand once he'd returned home. "Hello!" Wendall greeted him with a smile as one would an old friend, because that's who he was.

Monty had already gotten the tools Wendall had requested to borrow out on the table and he was thankful he was in touch with someone so handy. "Yes please," Wendall nodded, glancing around the dining room table for somewhere to sit without making everything filthy from his outfit. When Monty's back was turned, he laid out a newspaper on one of the chairs before precariously taking a seat upon it as to avoid ruining his pretty upholstery. Wendall was here often enough that he had no doubt Monty knew how he liked his tea. Glancing at the tools, he wasn't sure a run down would be a terrible idea. "I'm trying to take off a banister in the porch," he started to explain, "Mary-Lou told me to try using some grease but it only made things more difficult," Wendall gently and subtly wiped at his right elbow as he became aware that it had smeared up his forearm. "I need a wench, I think," Wendall announced, hoping Monty had one tucked away in his box.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Monty prepared the tea as Wendall liked it, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure he hadn’t knocked anything over. It wasn’t unusual for Monty to have to carry out a few minor repairs of his own after one of his cousin’s visits.

“Grease?” he repeated. “Why would you need-? Oh. Er - perhaps she didn’t mean it quite so literally.” He made a note to wipe down the back of his dining chair, and anything else Wendall’s elbows touched. He carried the tea to the table and set it on a coaster. “Here you are. A wrench, yes, I can lend you a wrench. Can’t help with a wench, unfortunately - not that sort of establishment. You’ll want a crowbar, too, I suspect, and a saw…” Monty considered Wendall’s hands for a moment. Ten was a good number of fingers. It was the sort of number of fingers you wanted to keep. “It would be easier with magic, you know. I know I enthuse about doing things the muggle way, but only because I’m old-fashioned. Are you sure you wouldn’t be better off using your wand?”

 

[Wendall Layton]

The comment about the grease flew over Wendall's head, as did many things that others spoke about in his presence. All he was certain of was that he was doing everything he could do meet his wife's wishes, and hopefully keep her happy. "Thank you," Wendall said, sipping half the cup in a single long gulp as though he hadn't drunk anything else all day. By the time he pulled his lips away however he realised just how fresh the water was now that the roof of his mouth was scalding. "Do you have any bickies?" he asked, wondering where the man's usual display that was set in the middle of the table had gotten to. Perhaps it had been moved out the way for the tool box, but now it would have been a welcome distraction from the furnace inside his mouth.

Wendall almost looked disappointed Monty didn't have a wench at his disposal, until the man corrected him. His cheeks turned a little crimson as he dropped his gaze once more to the tea, grateful that Monty moved swiftly on. Growing up Monty had always been someone Wendall could turn to and rely on, and trust that he wouldn't judge him, and this was no different. Even now, as he was offering a lend of his saw, proved that the gentleman in front of him was seeing him as someone more capable than the little boy he used to be. "Oh, no no," The man shook his head when magic was suggested, "It's not that I can't use magic, and it is probably easier," he started to explain, "but I don't think it's always a good thing to always pick the easiest route." If he had, he probably wouldn't be where he was now, married with 3 and a half children. Maybe it would be more of a risk to use the muggle methods, but it was certainly more satisfying, too.

"Could we also borrow some paint?" Wendall suddenly asked, sitting up straighter as his excitement got the better of him. Once he was finished removing the old wood, the area could probably do with freshening up. "Unless you know a spell for that, because I don't know if I can carry all of this home in one trip."​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

“Oh,” Monty laughed. He had learned to stockpile biscuits in anticipation of Wendall’s arrival. On this occasion, he’d forgotten to put any out. “Bickies, yes. Actually, I’ve got something even better.” He went to the cupboard and produced a tub of generously-iced purple cupcakes. Courtesy of Kata, of course. His own baking attempts tended to resemble dog food. While he was in the kitchen, he fetched down a pack of jammy dodgers as well and brought everything over on a plate.

“Mm - I always thought there was something much more satisfying about doing things by hand. Magic takes all the reward out of the effort. Well, it takes all the effort out as well, I suppose - but you’ll not have one without the other. Being a wizard is a bit like playing a game with all the cheat codes, isn’t it? Fun for a little while, quicker, yes, but you don’t feel very accomplished at the end. Ah - wizard problems. I’m not complaining, really.”

Without magic, his toolbox would have been significantly less spacious. He popped open drawers and slid back compartments until he found the tools he was looking for and set them out a safe distance from Wendall. “Paint? I’m sorry, I don’t think I have the sort you’re after. But we could wander down to the shops, if you’d like - after tea and cake, perhaps? Don’t worry about carrying it home; there are charms for that sort of thing.” He hadn’t been this excited for a while. It was rare for a wizard to take an interest in building things by hand, and Monty was brimming with ideas. The fact it was Wendall only dampened his enthusiasm a fraction. Magic could put fingers back on again. What was the worst that could happen?

 

[Wendall Layton]

Wendall wasn't entirely sure what could be better than bickies, until Monty produced cake. Given how much his wife was a baker, Wendall felt like he lived on cake these days. Thankfully Mary-Lou was most definitely the most responsible member of their family (Followed by Monti) which meant that she never allowed Wendall to eat too much that it would going to affect his health. His eyes lit up with the amount of icing on the cupcake, and he decided Mary-Lou didn't need to know about his pre-dinner snack.

The man let the former Professor ramble on a little as he was distracted by his cake, that was until he suggested they go to the shops. "Alright," beside, if he had a way they could transport everything back easily then it shouldn't be too much of a bother. "I think I could find a colour that will work, it just needs to be a plain yellow," he thought out loud. Surely the shop would have yellow. After finishing his cupcake, Wendall had taken to lifting and inspecting the tools at hand, some of which he was most unfamiliar with. Monty however had been very quick not only to lend him things, but always seemed to offer his help when he could, and now the man looked so excited it was as though there were pins in his cushion. "Do you miss being around all those students?" he asked, knowing at one time or another he'd been one of them, sat in Professor Pendleton's class.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

It was odd, the things that reminded Monty of Saveli. Yellow paint… There had been a big tin of buttercup-yellow paint sitting on the patio table when Monty had gone to the farm after the accident. She had set it down there, expecting to put it away when she got home, but she had never made it. The lemonade glasses were full of rainwater…

He smiled to disguise the cloud that had come over his face. “All the time,” he said. The students, the noise, the chaos - it had overwhelmed him sometimes, but he missed it terribly. Every now and then, when he was lying in bed, he started feeling homesick. It had taken him a while to realise it wasn’t his mother he really missed, but the school. “Tutoring isn’t quite the same. But it is less stressful. Much less stressful. I’m sure I could cope with it now, but… to tell the truth, I just don’t think I can face it all again.” A part of him still wilted when he thought about how he’d cried in front of all those children. He’d tried to bounce back from it, turn it into a learning opportunity, but he’d never got over the feeling that he’d humiliated himself and let everybody down. How could he go back now, dragging all that along behind him?

He sipped his tea quietly for a moment. “Oh - be careful with that one, it’s jolly sharp. There’s a handle on the other end. You’ll want to hold it like this, look. Fingers well away from the blade.” Dear Wendall had probably never held a saw before in his life. “I’ve got some scrap wood in the workshop we can practise on. I’ll show you how to use the vice. Ah - and we’ll need to pick up a few sanding blocks while we’re out. The old paint is a bit flaky, isn’t it? Best to just take it off. I’ve got a scraper somewhere, but sanding it down will give you a lovely finish.” Monty added sanding blocks to his personal shopping list and put it back in his pocket. “It’s not too late to change your mind about magic. I won’t be offended.” Disappointed that he wouldn’t get to spend time with his cousin, perhaps, but never offended.

 

[Wendall Layton]

Wendall wasn't great at noticing when others weren't feeling their best, but he could still tell when Monty was just trying to put on a brave face if not because he'd seen him do it on so many occasions. He wasn't sure what exactly had been the cause, but clearly something had made him anxious or worried or whatever else it was behind that smile. Hearing that his cousin didn't think he could face it again though was strange. "If you liked it so much, why wouldn't you go back?" Maybe it was just the stress of teaching that deterred him from returning but he'd just said he could cope with that.

Wendall had let his own dreams go when he'd met Mary-Lou. It hadn't been something he'd done intentionally so much as he realised later on that other parts of his life had just been a priority. He'd thought back to all those home movies he'd shot with the children when they were much younger, but really it had been years now since Wendall had done anything with producing a creative project of his own. "I never really saw myself running a farm," he said truthfully. He was grateful of course, to have the life he did and the opportunities at his feet, but cleaning out animals and planting vegetables wasn't exactly playing to his strengths.

The former Hufflepuff moved his grip on the saw to the handle, thinking it was a much more comfortable hold. Monty was trying to reel off instructions now on the best way to get a clean finish on the wall although Wendall's thoughts were still elsewhere around the room. "Yes I'm sure dad, I want to do it the proper way even if I do miss using magic a little bit." He said, surprising himself. He did miss magic, he realised, and perhaps it was now that he was thinking of his life before the farm, and the things he used to learn at school. He still wasn't only going to use it though to cut corners.​

 

[Monty Pendleton]

Nervous breakdown plot ID - 30535149​

Monty had never openly admitted the reason he was afraid to go back to the castle. He felt sick just thinking about it. All the shame, anger, and regret - he’d thought that if he stayed away, he could bury it, but it refused to lie down. No passing thought of Hogwarts, no memory of his colleagues, no mention of teaching was not accompanied by a vicious twisting sensation in his stomach. He didn’t even talk to his therapist about it. Somehow, it felt more shameful than anything else he’d shared. Perhaps it was because he’d had a choice. He’d had opportunities to ask for help, to admit he was struggling, but instead he’d let his stress grow into some hideous, insurmountable creature, until it knocked him to the ground. What kind of professor had a breakdown in front of his students? How could he hope to feel capable when his own mind and body had betrayed him?

“I embarrassed myself,” he said, “that’s all. It must have been before your time. Yes - I think it was. I was under a lot of pressure from various people, and, rather naively, I thought I could cope with it. Well, I couldn’t. I was very unwell - I wasn’t sleeping, or eating - and one day, it all came to a head, and I made a terrible spectacle of myself.” He shook his head. “Sorry - sorry, no, it’s all right. I’m all right, now. Just a bit of a bruised ego, eh? Anyway, the point is, I can’t expect the headmaster to take me seriously after all that. And I wouldn’t blame him.” As a friend, Matt had been nothing but kind to Monty. But as a boss, he needed his staff to be trustworthy and reliable. Monty was neither.

Talking about tools offered a brief respite from his heavy feelings. He was in no way prepared, however, to be addressed as dad. His younger students occasionally slipped up, especially when he was visiting their homes, and it endlessly amused him; but coming from Wendall, the word hit him hard somewhere very soft. A delicate fondness burgeoned, and he smiled. Should he draw attention to it? Or would that spoil it? He didn’t want to embarrass him. “What stops you from using it?” he asked, packing some unneeded tools back into the box. “And what did you see yourself doing, if not running the farm?” Dad. He had never stopped being one. He never would. And if he could be one for Wendall too, then he was all the more glad.