Title: Tea, Tears and Therapy
Writer: Skadi
Age limit: S
Style/Genre: Dialogue
Characters: Herbert Brooke is my own character. Other characters are borrowed from Harry Potter books and purposefully revealed in the text and not here.
(Vastuuvapaus: En omista Rowlingin luomaa maailmaa, hahmoja tai tapahtumia enkä saa teksteistäni rahaa.)A/N: This is my first fanfic in FinFanFun (not really, but last time I wrote anything here was 10+ years ago). This is my contribution to the dialogue challenge (
Dialogihaaste #7) where the whole fanfic is supposed to be pure dialogue. The language was initially Finnish, but since I have been writing in English a lot lately, it felt more natural.
“Would you like some tea?”
“Yes, thank you. Do you have any sugar?”
“In that cup, just there. How are you holding up? You look a bit worn out.”
"And how would you be in my position, Mr…?”
“Herbert Brooke.”
“…Mr. Brooke. Apologies, I didn’t catch your name in all the, well, rush to sit down here.”
“No apologies needed. I hope over time we’ll get to know each other better. Have you had any chance to grieve?”
“Grieve? Not a chance. My hands are full, and the boy keeps me up most nights. I didn’t expect to be raising another child at my age.”
“It all happened fast, but you’ve managed admirably. And your son—how is he, if I may ask?”
“He… Excuse me…”
“Of course. Here, a handkerchief.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brooke. I’m not usually… like this.”
“I’d wonder if you weren’t, given everything. Do you have anyone else to help with the boy?”
“No one. It’s down to me, I’m the only one left to hold up this family. But, to be frank, I don’t think anyone else could raise him properly. The best place for him is here with me.”
“You’re resilient. Just remember to take care of yourself, too.”
***
“Good afternoon. Tea again? With sugar, as always?”
“Yes, my taste in tea hasn’t changed in forty years.”
“How’s it been going with the boy? You mentioned last time that he hadn’t shown any signs of… well, any talents.”
“I’m starting to think he’s hopeless. I dread that he might be a Squib. His uncle vowed he’d bring the boy’s magic out, but… nothing yet.”
“He’s only eight. There’s still time before Hogwarts.”
“But at his age, his father was already showing his skills. And here’s Neville, not a trace of it. It’s worrying.”
“And if he is a Squib? What would that mean to you?”
“I don’t know, Herbert. I only want him to show some spark. I want him to feel pride in himself. In his parents.”
“How is he dealing with what happened to them? Does he understand?”
“As much as a child that age can. He should be proud—his parents sacrificed so much, for everyone.”
“Yes, they were heroes. We all owe them, and I’m sure you’re proud of that.”
“Immensely.”
“And proud of him?”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Brooke. He’s dear to me, but pride… no, not yet.”
***
“Here’s your tea. How have you been, Augusta?”
“Well enough, Herbert, well enough. Is this the tea you mentioned last time?”
“Yes, that’s it. What do you think?”
“It’s nice enough. A bit fruity, though. Almost tastes more like warm juice than tea.”
“The school year’s begun. Did the boy get his letter?”
“Just barely. I’d nearly lost hope, but there he is, off to Hogwarts.”
“Glad to hear it worked out. Which house did he end up in?”
“Gryffindor, like his mother. His father was in Ravenclaw, of course.”
“And how’s he managing?”
“Oh, he’s a handful. The boy would lose his own head if it weren’t attached to his body. I sent him a Remembrall, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he loses that too.”
“He’s still young. He’ll grow into himself, find his own way. Give it time. And his parents—any updates?”
“Nothing. Their bodies live on, but their souls… long gone. It does him good to see them, but what kind of life is that? It breaks my heart, Herbert, watching them in that state.”
“Another cup?”
“Yes, please.”
***
“It’s been a while. I was wondering if I’d see you again.”
“Considering everything, I wondered myself if I’d make it.”
“How are you? Sit down, you look a bit worse for wear.”
“A few bruises, feeling my age, but still breathing. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has been defeated—finally—and we can all take a breath.”
“Yes, I read about the battle at Hogwarts. Incredible to think the final fight took place there. And the boy… how is he?”
“Grown up, seemingly overnight. The time’s flown by. I remember him on his first day, like it was yesterday.”
“Ah, yes. It’s hard to believe. Here, take a handkerchief, Augusta.”
“Thank you, Herbert.”
“Are you proud of him? Neville?”
“…Yes. Very proud.”
