o. FOREIGN CONCEPTS
prologue.

Throughout the course of his relatively short life, Alfie had never come face-to-face with tragedy. Sure, he has experienced sadness; the death of his German Shepherd, Lucy, had him holed up in his room for a week, and when he lost his favourite stuffed teddy bear, not even the promise of a thousand others just like it could silence his howls. But none of those instances could ever hold a candle to something as world shattering as the death of his parents.

The concept—even now as he lay on this foreign bed, in this foreign house, in this foreign country—is strange. It's almost like his mind is unable to grasp the thought that never would he fall asleep to the sound of his mother reading his favourite book, or smelling her perfume when they hugged, or watch her laugh at one of his silly jokes she shouldn't have found so funny. Never will be able to sit in his father's office, his mind quietened by the faint scratch of his quill, or race around the Quidditch Pitch on their favourite brooms. Never again will he feel the tender comfort of their touch, of their love, of their never-ending praise and affection.

No, now they are buried beneath the earth, too far for him to reach them. And that will never change, because no amount of money or begging will bring them back to him.

One might think he could find some form of closure in their deaths. But even that has been taken from him, because not a day after the incident, the aurors involved ruled it as a tragic accident; a spell gone wrong, they said. He hadhasnobody to blame, no person to direct all his pain towards, no trial to focus his quickly depleting energy on.

Alfie has nothing. Nothing but the desire to curl up into a ball and die, and an annoyingly cheery great uncle who just won't leave him al—

"Hey, kiddo! I made breakfast if you want any," Philippe—or Phil, as he prefers—says, his voice near-deafening.

Alfie whines, and buries his head deeper into his pillow. All he wants is some sleep, is that too much to ask for?

"Non, je ne pas. Come back never." [ No, I don't. ]

"You sure? There's sausages and bacon and hash browns, I'm sure you'll love it."

"I'm sure I won't."

"Come on, don't be like that. Once we get some food in you, you'll be fully awake in no—"

Alfie cut him off, his frustration soaring.

"I said I don't want anything. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

Phil stops talking after that, and Alfie, slowly welcoming the siren call of sleep, rejoices. But just as he gets comfortable again, his head positioned in-between the cotton pillows, limbs akimbo under the duvet, the end of bed dip.

"Look, Alfred —"

"Alfie. It's Alfie."

"Alright. Alfie." His Great Uncle sighs. "I know this is all quite new for you. A different home is tough to adapt to, let alone a different country. Merlin, It's new for me too! I've never had to look after a child before. Especially one who's recently lost—"

Alfie stills. Phil groans.

"I just... I want you to know that if you ever want to talk about them, I'll be here."

A calloused hand awkwardly squeezes his bare shoulder. It's gone not a second later, though, along with the added weight on the springy mattress.

Alfie doesn't allow himself to relax until the door shuts with a quiet click. And as he sags into the bed, more tired than any conversation ought to make him, he can only despair at his luck.

Why does life have to be so complicated?

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ooh i is back !! and with a semi-decent prologue for my second gay hp fanfic. i hope you enjoy it and don't forget to comment, i salivate at the very thought of you guys roasting the living daylights out of my writing 😰

have fun !