I may not have had time to complete many prompts this year, but it was worth trying this challenge just to browse the AO3 collection! I have rediscovered so many fandoms, some of which I have been out of for literal decades. It's really cool to see people still having fun and making merry in the old internet spaces I used to be part of. Thank you for running this!
That's amazing! The beauty of multifandom events, the nostalgia really gets to kick in! Have fun rediscovering what happened while you were gone, anon!
(1/3) I was going to share this after the event, but seeing the recent negativity, now seemed appropriate. I learned about this event the last week of July. At the moment, I wasn't too happy with my writing style: long, florid things with tangents and asides that takes ages to go anywhere. Even though I have regular readers who enjoy it (and really like my descriptive passages), I was feeling frustrated with it and felt this event would be a good way to force myself to write something SHORT!
(2/3) The prompt list is great and I set to work right away on the first one, based on an idea that's been rattling in my head for months. Two days later: ~4,000 words. Oops. Tried next prompt: shorter, but I got an idea on how to expand it into something bigger that called for time I didn't have. I put it away for later and tried again, same prompt diff. fandom: got something SHORT! that I liked enough, but I wasn't all that pleased with it. I thought about it, and realized something:
(3/4 like I said, I write long) I LIKED how I write! I LIKE spending time describing a forest clearing or hotel room even if it's not that important! I LIKE discovering an emotional angle to a story that demands more internal dialogue but makes for a richer tale! I LIKE getting so wrapped up in scene setting I find a new idea on the way! And I like spending days kicking at an idea until I find a story worth telling. As of now, I've posted 1 story for this month and have drafts for maybe 3 more.
(4/4) The prompts I pursued were a blast; I have yet to post them (hopefully will before the month's out), but I wrote my first story with a major character death (so milestone?) and stuff I never thought I'd write (I'm not into pirates but love the pirateAU I wrote). It's amazing! And best of all, I like how I wrote them: slowly, deliberately, and like...me. So, thank you, for a prompt list I'll be drawing from for a while yet and for helping me rediscover my love for my style <3
Holy shit, anon!!! That was such a wild and wonderful read, we are soooo happy for you! This is what we want this event to achieve, to help people rediscover or deepen their love for writing, to help them see their own writing in a different way, to improve ourselves in any way it takes shape.
Actually, we love this story - we love it so much, in fact, we want to hear more of stories like that!
If you want to share your own story about Writer's Month, pop it into our inbox (or submissions box if it's long and you have ask character limit) and we will be publishing them under the tag #WMstories so we can have some positive vibes flowing and powering our muses!
Members of each phyla have their own characteristics, and we would have---
“No.”
The sudden voice behind her startled Sydney out of her chair, her eyes wide. “Huh? I mean… no what, sir?”
Her father gave an annoyed sigh and she restrained herself from flinching. “That.” He told her simply, snatching the book from the girls hand and holding it up. “You don’t have time to do any pleasure reading.” He sneered the words and continued. “You have far more important things that you could be doing but instead you’re holed up in here wasting your time.”
At this, Sydney couldn’t help but frown. To her, it was far from a waste of time but she nodded and stumbled out an apology, refusing to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry… is there anything else?”
The man considered her words before immediately cheering up. “Yes. I pulled some strings for you and you’ll be interning at the office. Nothing too important, I know you can’t handle that, office work is an important part of the ministry.”
Sydney grimaced.“Office work as in… paperwork? I’d much rather do something produ-“ she cut off her words, slinking back into herself at the mere look on his face. It screamed ‘what did I just tell you, you insolent child.’ It was a wonder he didn’t yell it at her now. “Er, thank you for the task… When do I start?” she asked curiously.
Ibrahim Mazur gave her a puzzled look, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. When she continued to stare at him blank faced, he sighed and turned around, gesturing for someone to enter. “Now. You start now.”
The brunette’s mouth fell open and it took all of her strength not to yell out her next words. “What?!” her voice was panic ridden as she glanced from the man not much older than her and her father. “But… it’s nine o’clock at night.” She exclaimed, still taken aback. She had assumed that she would start this week, maybe even tomorrow, but now? It was as if he were speaking in a foreign tongue.
“Sydney,” it was the other man now. She thought he had mentioned his name but she had been focusing on her father. His words now brought her back to her room. “I apologize for, er, summoning you so late, but there are some things we need before the morning and there’s not many people available this late.” Sydney glared and him and crossed her arms across her chest. “Whatever. Let’s just go.”
She shoved past the boy, growling to herself about how summer was about relaxing. She knew rudeness would get her nowhere, especially with her father around, but that had never stopped her before. As long as it wasn’t directed at him, she was fairly safe from his wrath.
Sydney made her way into the family room, grudgingly grabbing a little sweater and the small beige tote that accompanied her everywhere. She almost wished her mom were here now, maybe she would have talked to her father and let her wait until the morning. But she didn’t bother checking now, her mother had made a habit of avoiding the house when they were there. Syd let out an exasperated sigh, tapping her foot in annoyance.
“Come on, are we going or not?” she called down the hall, letting a whine drag out her words. As she did, she could just barely catch the glare the he shot at her as the two exited her bedroom. She bit her lip and looked down, crossing her arms once again.
As the couple stepped out into the chilly night air, she couldn’t help but to frown. She glanced up and the boy, a question on her lips but frowned and shook her head. She tried again. “Did my father set you up for this? Merlin knows that he’s getting sick of me.” She sighed. The boy beside her looked down at her in surprise, his dark eyes shining in the faint light of the moon. “No, of course not. We really do need you.” He turned his attention back to walking and Sydney frowned. She knew knew that trick, it meant ‘I’m not telling you anymore unless it’s absolutely necessary’. They walked in silence for a few more moments before the man turned and grabbed her shoulders. She let out a squeak in surprise and jumped back. The man gave her an apologetic smile and grabbed her shoulders again, nearly wrapping her entire body with his. “Don’t move.” His voice was soft and low in her ear and with one quick movement, they were somewhere else.
Sydney jumped back from him, rubbing her temples. Apparition always gave her a headache and she winced at the bright lights. For a few minutes she let her eyes adjust, as she stared bleary-eyed at the white floor. When she looked up, she looked around, confused. “Where are we?” she demanded, taking in every detail of the building. The man chuckled and she just barely caught her answer. There had only been one section of the ministry that she had never visited and she sighed. It was just as rubbish as she had imagined. She growled out in annoyance. “I am not working here.” She told the man simply. She tried to recall his name and simple came up with Michael. A boring name for a boring person. Huh.
Michael sighed and sat down at a table that extended to nearly the end of the room. “Your father said you might cause trouble.” He told her, looking up at her reaction. Her protests were cut off. “And I am to promptly deal with you however I see fit.” He finished and her nose scrunched up in annoyance. “I’m not a child,” she growled, angrily pulling out a chair. “I don’t need some babysitter watching every move I make. I know how to sort papers.” She rolled her eyes.
The man nodded calmly, like he had been expecting that response. Sydney clenched her jaw. There was no doubt in her mind that what went down tonight would be reported back to her father. She let out an aggravated sigh, staring him in the eye. “Where do we begin?”
From a hole that had once been a window, Simon watched the retreat down below. He could see everything from the fourth story. How the attackers ran past the castle barrier then disappeared like little points of smoke. How some of them were taken down by the castle's protectors during their flight or how others walked oddly, as if a leg were broken. One thing he noticed, however, none of them seemed to be aiding one another. It was evident that they were united only in ambition or in expected victory. But their short adulation was gone. They were strangers with a common failure. They had no reason to need one another now.
Simon took a shaky breath, willing himself not to cry. All of his friends were probably being so strong right now. He couldn't be his usual, pitiful self. He had to at least lie to them that he was worth being among the DA. To act like he was worthy of being in the admirable group that represented the will of his school. A hand on his shoulder and a quiet reminder that there was help to be given gave him a chance to enact that lie. Even if he could never believe he was something like the others, just as the Obscura thought, he could at least try to make others think that he was strong.
He stood and followed the owner of the hand to a small group of students crying as they raised their wands to carry their friends' bodies away from the rubble. Simon watched them a moment, giving them space to take their brothers and sisters away, and fell behind them with the remaining cadavers as the other students drifted down the corridor.
Simon looked down at a curly-haired girl he recognized. Her name didn't come to him at that moment, but she had been someone who often cried and confessed that she did not believe she belonged in the school. She had been a Hufflepuff; born to non-magical parents just like him. She was only twelve years old. And she was dead.
He swallowed around the welt in his throat and pointed his wand at her, taking in a breath to cast the charm that would allow him to carry her body. Carry it without carrying it. Simon bit his lower lip, realizing how impersonal magic could be. It divided people more than it brought them together. It seemed so much like... like a burden.
Now more than ever he felt like he didn't belong here. That he was unwelcome. All the years of hoping that feeling would go away, all the time he'd spent faking his smiles and trying to cover up his self loathing with friends and stupid birthday cards. All of his insecurities, his failure at being a wizard, his inability to keep up with his peers. For a fleeting moment he saw it all in this girl's freckled face. Her unmoving eyes still wide with fear... And then he did not see it in her. Instead, he felt as if he was looking up at the corner of the ceiling, body cold, as someone pitied him from above.
A chill ran threw him all the way to his core, and he unwillingly shivered. The magical world was so sad and complicated. It was just like the real world. No matter how much he had prayed for it to be otherwise. It just was.
Simon pushed the length of useless wood back into his pocket where it sat as a heavy weight. He took a knee and carefully, so as not to disturb her, shut her eyes and scooped her up in his arms like he would if he were carrying Emily back to her hospital bed after watching telly on the floor. He carried her the muggle way, the human way, all the way down to the infirmary where the rest of the dead and injured were to be taken. He held a little girl from Wales close to his heart the whole way, while others levitated witch and wizard children.
And later that evening, when he didn't need to keep so composed, he went to his room and had a long, quiet cry for all the lost children. And for his own misfortune at being unfit for magic as well.
Jon had taken his share of damage during the initial battling. His ear had been spliced by a poorly-aimed slicing charm, and along with his various scrapes and bruises from running about and--admittedly--tripping several times, the same arm that had been damaged in December was spliced back open. He had managed to keep himself in one piece until the opposition began to fall back, thankfully.
Jon turned on his heel and began the jog to his classroom, where he could grab a few items that he hoped would help those in need of healing. As he came to the corner before the North Tower, he heard the high tap of a woman's heels. She sounded as if she were running. Concerned that one of his fellow professors could be in need of his help, Jon rounded the corner quickly to offer his aid but was surprised with a bright green glare headed his way.
He deflected the spell quickly though had to regain his footing in doing so, and as he raised his wand back and behind him to throw a curse back, he suddenly stopped with his eyes wide and his jaw slack.
She was dressed all in black with the majority of her hair pulled into a braid, though plenty of it had spilled out and was stuck to her glistening forehead. There was blood on her hands and her face, but she was only herself bleeding from a gash in her thigh. Her eyes were wild behind sweaty curls that had been thrown out of her usually perfect hair and tossed haphazardly about her head like a frazzled, broken halo. And even though her face seemed animal-like and bent in anger, she was still as beautiful to him as he recalled seeing her last.
He couldn't understand why his disheveled sister was suddenly at Hogwarts, looking as if she had been around during the fight. He hoped that she hadn't come for him, only to get herself hurt. Worry met with the confusion that clouded him from seeing the obvious.
"Kate, what the devil--"
She shrieked and jerked her arm violently at him, sending bright emerald curses with the same fervor of a cornered animal. Startled, Jon did nothing more than deflect them as best as he could. She didn't stop hurling spells at him until the toe of her shoe caught on a felled bit of ceiling in her path. When she came down, she came down hard and bashed her chin into the rubble.
Jon hurried forward out of instinct to pick up his younger sister, but again she let out a yell and blindly struck out with a vicious bought of Sectumsempra. He felt the invisible blade slice his ear and flinched, cupping the side of his head to stem the bleeding. It was then that it clicked. Why she was here, why she was injured, why she seemed half crazed. An ache took over Jon's chest, followed by a sharp pain worse than any cutting curse.
"Kate, no... Please, tell me you aren't... that you haven't..." He couldn't form the words. His hand dropped from his ear and gripped his chest, closing into a fist around his shirt.
She smiled wickedly at him and stood, tossing her hair away from her face. Somehow her dark eyes looked less whole to him now than when they had been shrouded.
"That I'm not what, brother dear? Standing with the Obscura against your precious precious little pile of filth?"
"What are you--?"
"This place, this whole place is rubbish!" Kate threw her arms about in a wild gesture, shaking her hair back into a curtain over her creamy face. "Mixing the vermin with the wizards and the witches! Filthy little mudbloods that ought not to have ever been let into our world, let alone ever been born!"
Jon furrowed his brow, taking a tentative step forward and reaching his hand out in front of him, as if he could close the space between them and repair whatever had crept between them without his notice. How could he not have even seen that she was in the Obscura? She had become odd, had drifted from him somehow... but he never would have dreamed his sweet sister could kill. Children, for that matter!
"Katie, what are you talking about? People are people, and magic shouldn't be exclusive. We don't have control over who we're born to. You shouldn't be messing with these kinds of people, Kate, they're dangerous..." he took another set of slow steps toward her. "We're not even Purebloods. You know mum was--"
"Don't you say it!" She erupted back into a fit of angry magic. Some of which he deflected and some of which he countered. He even managed to set her back and nearly disarmed her, though that seemed to only have pushed her further away, so to speak.
If she had been angry then, she was purely livid now.
"Don't you talk to me about her! Don't you even speak...! She's filth! She was always filth! He was wrong to marry her! She's beneath us! She was a worthless witch and a worthless mother!"
"Kate!"
"Diffindo! She never did love me. Not like she loved you. Not like I could ever hold a candle to her sweet Jonny, the apple of her bloody eye!" She began to advance on him as she hurled her spells, ranting as she pushed him back down the corridor.
"Protego!"
"I wasn't worth her time! I wasn't worth her attention! I wasn't even worth her shit!"
"Stupify!"
"Protego! I was a bleeding little nothing to her! She hated me! She never loved me! She never did!"
"Don't be daft, she's our mother, Kate! She loves you!"
"Your mother! Incendio!"
The tapestries lying on the ground lit quickly and suddenly the dim corridor was awash in bright orange brilliance. Jon flinched from the heat and the light of the fire, shielding his eyes with his damaged arm. Long enough for Kate to hit him with a knockback jinx.
He flew a good few meters before hitting the ground again and catching his shoulder on the corner of the broken stone littering the floor. He struggled to a sitting position, finding he had harmed his back and hip in the fall as well. He was getting to be a bit too old to be thrown about like a rag doll.
Quickly he scrambled to take hold of his wand again, staggering back on his feet and throwing back a hex to keep her from coming closer. Whatever he was dealing with--whatever his sister herself was dealing with--he was starting to feel as if appealing to his memory of her was not an effective plan.
"They understand, you know." She spat at him. "Understand how it is to have earned something, to be entitled to something, to have been born into it--and have to hand it over to someone useless. Someone who doesn't know anything. Someone who shouldn't even be able to wipe the dirt from your shoes!"
She swung her wand and the walls seemed to shake. She had always been so brilliant, so unbelievably powerful. He could see know why her classmates and her professors had feared her so much as a child. She was gifted.
But she was twisted and mad.
"I was always better than you! You were pathetic! You couldn't even levitate your own quill without my help! And I hadn't even a wand then! I was always smarter too. Than you, than anyone else! And all you or mum or everyone ever did was hold. Me. Back!" She threw a harsh curse that he barely pushed aside. Had he not, he could have lost not only his wand but his whole wand arm.
"Kate, stop it, you're going to kill me." The shock was clear in his voice, and it seemed to have the same effect as a shrieking mouse would to a hungry cat. Kate's lips spread and a sick smile took over her face.
The two of them began to duel, and Jon soon realized he had engaged in a fight for his life. His own sister; the air in his lungs and the light of his life. And she was trying to kill him. They dueled in that hallway for what felt like an hour while he frantically began to pray that someone would come around the corner and relieve him from this craziness. He was tiring out, a problem that she didn't seem to share. The longer they opposed one another, the farther gone she seemed to be. She eventually seemed to lose the sense of speaking, and instead let out her spells in a series of aggressive wails and broken grunting. His best opposition became his only defense. She was right about one thing, at least, he had never been a match for her. She was a marvel of magic. So strong, it had taken them three appointments and hours of scouring the shelves at Olivander's to find a wand capable of keeping up with her. He remembered jeering her then that she had better take good care of that wand or else she might never find another match, and would lose her status as a witch.
The thought became a stone that sunk in his gut and hollowed out his core. He realized what he had to do... and what would most likely result.
Jon threw himself back into his spell-casting. Forcing himself to forget the lead in his limbs and ignore the ache in his bones. His heart was weary of the task at hand. But it would have to be done.
His advance puzzled his sister, who disliked her brother's new found backbone. She became sloppy in her curses and left herself open; a fact that Jon took advantage of. He waited until he had drawn close enough until he was able to once again see her eyes fully. And then...
"Expelliarmus!" With a gasp Kate was left empty-handed, her eyes following the path that her wand took through the air. "Accio wand!" It slowed it's backward rotation before shooting towards his outstretched hand, landing flat in his palm. He looked to the woman before him another time and realized with great pain that he could no longer recognize her as his sister. The devil she had become had eaten away at her and left behind only the worst of the world.
Her expression was pitiful. She seemed so small and frail now. So unremarkable without her wand. Her pleading face and sightless eyes like a frightened bird's.
"Jon no... Jonny, Please..." He took a breath in, holding her wand in both hands. Her rage returned, and she belted out another shrill. "Don't you dare, Jon! Don't you dare!"
'I'm so sorry...'
The sound of her wand snapping filled the hall, leaving behind two broken halves of wood and his hands and two broken spirits.
She came at him like an animal, clawing at the air and then his face. But she was tiny now. She lacked his height and what little muscle he had was not gifted to her. It didn't take him long to wrestle with her, and once he had her turned around he pinned her arms around his and held them behind the base of her neck in a full nelson. He held onto her and rode out her rage until two sets of footfalls came. Most likely brought on by all the screaming, two Aurors rounded the corner and helped Jon secure his wild sister.
They put her in a white belted jacket, still fighting like the devil was in her as she screamed at him how she hated him. How she would kill him. How he was nothing to her. Not a brother. How she would find him and hurt him back. And with an official on either side of her she was whisked away to Azkaban. At least, he could only assume. He had tuned out their talk once they had appeared, and had only nodded or muttered little nothings when asked twice to respond.
He was tired. There was a strong weight now bearing down on top of him. His father's death had been a hard blow to Jon's psyche, he thought, but now all this with Kate...? He could hardly even force himself to think on it clearly for more than a second. Eventually he was left to himself, two halves of a broken wand in one hand and his own in the other.
He turned slowly, sadly, and headed to his classrooms to retrieve what he had set out for. It would have to be done. There were others in need.
"Now I want to tell you all about the garage." An eery presence gloomed over the indulging atmosphere causing Svetlana to flinch slightly. She was terrified and anxiously waited for the man an arms length away from her to speak. The Sekic's projected an aura of regret and hostility evident through the way her mother clutched onto her wand. Although, the man did not seem at all provoked at the threat, rather amused and smirked.
"She suffocated, it was deliberate." He said in a simple, chilling tone. Hesitantly, Svetlana's mother covered her mouth with her spare, trembling hand to shut her eyes and sob. Reluctantly, her father's face trembled. Soon, he would burst into tears and Svetlana would lose all control.
The young Veela abruptly shut her eyes. Resisting the urge to ball out her tears, was quite difficult. Alone, she returned to the present, and wiped her emerald eyes with the back of her palm.
She sniffed and applied a generous amount of lip gloss when two female students entered the bathroom.
"They're here Grace!" One sobbed.
"What are we going to do?!" The other hyperventilated. Weak.
"Who's here?" Svetlana said in a rude, monotone voice. The girls ignored her, until one sobbed while violently trembling "Obscura".
Hooded figures, bone shattering spells, green emissions, Svetlana swallowed to hold back from hyperventilating. She stood in The Great Hall, surrounded by scattering and a few injured students who had already joined the deadly battle at the stadium. Where students went to die and Obscura members claimed more worthless souls. "Help me." Svetlana whispered blankly, speaking to everybody yet no one in particular. Nobody even heard her. She needed help, Svetlana needed guidance. The Obscura members were going to break through the castle soon and Svetlana needed help . . . To defend herself. To defend the castle. Slowly, she wondered to a seat and sat blankly, as if possessed by her own fear. Mouth slightly open, Svetlana numbly stared at the floor, needing time to process the unfolding events.
Other than the gentle snores from a few of his fellow Lions, there was no noise, no movement. There was nothing to distract him from his thoughts consisting of the war, Dumbledore’s Army, his parents, the safety of his friends… All of which amalgamated into the throbbing headache he was presently afflicted with. Normally, Keane would immerse himself in training for Quidditch despite the minimal amount of solace it provided him – it achieved something at least.
Doing so at such a late hour, however, would undoubtedly raise suspicion, possibly even alarm from the Aurors that typically guarded the grounds at night; it was why he usually settled for wandering the castle’s halls. Still, he remained undeterred by the possibility, and after taking a moment to weigh his options, he failed to see a reason why not.
The Lion quickly dressed himself, slipping on a shirt and jumper over his bare torso whilst he switched his pajama bottoms for a proper pair of trousers. As he did so, he noticed a slip of paper fall out of his pants’ pocket. Creased and somewhat aged, he recognized it immediately and displayed no hesitation in picking it up. Following a careful glance at the sleeping Gryffindors, he unfolded the photograph, opening it to the happy couple whose fate he knew all too well.
Their smiles were wide just as their gazes were loving – it was almost as if they recognized the young man who held their photograph. Of course, Keane knew they did not. They were just portrayals of the real thing, a captured memory. It had been years since he had last seen his parents, and even then, it was not a sight worth sharing. His visits to the Mirror of Erised simply cemented that fact, no matter how real it seemed to see them.
Folding the photograph back into its original state, he tucked it back into his pocket – dwelling on his parents’ fate merely augmented the throbbing of his head, but he found it difficult not to. Especially in regards to whoever had been behind such an act. He wanted to know the truth… He wanted them to pay.
And along with the rise of the Obscura, he began to wonder if there was a connection between the group and his parents’ deaths, if there was a reason for why he was left to live, and if there was a much more sinister plan behind it all.
Keane clenched his jaw at his last thought as he grabbed his broomstick from underneath his bed and made his way out of the boys’ dormitories. He had done enough thinking. In fact, he had done eighteen years’ worth of it. But he had no leads. The murderer left none, and rummaging through anything and everything his uncle had on his case only validated that assumption. Perhaps he was not looking hard enough. Maybe, just maybe, he was looking in all the wrong places, and all he needed was to ask the right question.
Before long, he found himself walking out into the Viaduct Courtyard, the chill of the morning air stung his face along with any and all of his exposed skin, eliciting a shiver from the tall brunet. Several meters ahead of him, there were a pair of Aurors, their backs turned away from him but they both were very much awake as they discussed something pertaining to the strange amount of snogging they have witnessed from the Third years. It seemed like dumb luck was on the Lion’s side as the Aurors seemed too occupied with their complaining to have noticed him, allowing Keane to mount his broomstick and launch himself into the air before they had a chance to turn around.
Practicing Quidditch was no longer in his mind – he wanted to fly, to go away for a little while. His thoughts went back to the photograph, to his parents, and he knew where he would go. His hands gripped his broomstick’s handle tightly as his speed increased; he was flying higher and higher, farther and farther. For anyone back at Hogwarts, he was a shrinking dot, gradually disappearing as the seconds turned into minutes.
Hogsmeade soon came into view. The small village still appeared to be recovering from the attack; buildings along its periphery remained badly damaged while those situated at its epicenter seemed almost fully rebuilt. There was no one walking its streets though, especially not that late. Sighting the path to the Shrieking Shack, Keane flew towards it as he began to make his descent prior to his smooth landing. His arrival in Hogsmeade meant that he was no longer within Hogwarts’ protective boundaries and that he no longer needed to fly. Broomstick in hand, Keane focused on his destination, feeding the thought so it eclipsed the rest of his mind…
And then following a loud crack, everything turned dark. His vision swirled along with the pit of his stomach as a sort of pressure assaulted him from all directions, pushing and compressing his entire form, before he heard the sound again just as his feet met with a stable ground. He had arrived.
The familiar sound of waves crashing sounded in the distance as he sensed the tinge of salt in the air, the slight breeze that greeted him only enhanced that feeling. He stood at the base of a grassy knoll, his jaw clenched once more as he walked up the small hill. As he reached the top, he was met with the sight of a lone Oak tree, the very same one he and his uncle had planted the day of the funeral. Lying at its base was a headstone with two names etched into the granite. Seeing it again and how much the tree had grown merely reminded the young man of how long it had been.
With a flick of his wand, a small bouquet of flowers manifested out of thin air before he settled them on their graves and smiled weakly at it, “Mum… Dad…”
