His parents were arguing again. Thomas huddled in his bed with his books scattered across the bedcovers and tried to not listen. As he clutched his toy dragon to his chest Thomas knew he was too old for such toys but the old battered dragon made him feel safe. He couldn't remember a time not filled with raised voices when his parents were in the same house. Conversations became emotional battlegrounds which seesawed between yelling and cold silences.
Their normal method of communication was to shout at each other, slam doors, throw ornaments and then his father would storm off to the basement while his mother would come upstairs to tell him how much she loved him. While playing with his hair, his mother would promise a lot of things that never happened.
Thomas gave a quick glance at the solid oak door that separated his bedroom from the hallway but neither of his parent had ventured upstairs to his floor yet. This fight had a different emotional tone, no yelling and no cold silence. It was like they were hissing the words they didn't want Thomas to hear. It was also taking a lot longer than their normal interactions.
"Does Master Thomas need anything?"
Thomas jumped, "No thank you, Mink. Would you like a jacket, it's quite cold outside."
"No Master Thomas, Mink is quite warm at present." The house elf tidied the bed covers, picked up two books that had been tossed to the ground and replaced them in the selves. "Do you think I should tell Master about the letter?" he said in an off handed manner.
"I've already told Daddy about that letter Mink so I think it's probably a different letter he was expecting." Thomas cuddled his dragon to his chest. "I don't think it's in your best interest to remind him about something he considered unimportant or maybe deleted. He might get angry."
"Master is very wise," said Mink as he looked around the room. "Your mother will be up soon. I'm sure she would like to discuss…"
The door slammed open to reveal a women standing in the entrance. Thomas sighed, it was going to be one of those conversations.
When Thomas was small he had believed every part truth and lie his mother spouted about his father. But when he reached the age of seven and a half, the house elves had gathered up all his belongings and placed them in this room. An unwanted gift to his father. That's where he lived now, in his father's house with the house elves and no one else.
"Mistress," said Mink as he moved away from the bed and bowed his head deeply.
"Get out," snapped Irene. "I'm here to see my son. Daring how are you." She sauntered across the room with her perfume, makeup and a designer dress and held out her hands. "Oh my poor, poor boy." She sat on the bedcovers, ran a hand across his forehead and played with his hair. "Sherlock said the stress of your birthday had made you unwell and I wasn't to make a fuss. I course I should make a fuss darling. It's not every day my child turned eleven."
"Dad said I was a muggle and I might have to go to a muggle school. I don't want to go to a muggle school. I would rather live with you."
Irene pulled back, "Your father knows best about these things Thomas. I may despise the man but he does have your best interests at heart. Yes, I think you should continue to live here until you are well enough to take your place in the family." Irene stood and walked over to the window.
Thomas wondered if his mother had retreated because of the word muggle or the thought of Thomas returning to her house. The real word for his situation was squib but even Thomas knew never to utter that word within the family and especially near his mother.
"Naturally the party I planned will be delayed until you feel better."
"I am feeling better mother, honestly." Thomas made wheezing sound then picked up his handkerchief, placed it over his mouth and took a deep breath.
"What are you doing?" she took a step closer.
"Its lavender and vapour rub, Greg says it's to make me breathe easier."
"Greg?"
Sometimes he spent weekends with Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Gregory. Uncle Greg would take him to and all sorts of exciting places in muggle London which made his father sneer and mutter under his breath.
Of course his father tried to teach him all sorts of potions, spells and magic. But Thomas knew he wasn't every good yet even though he could name an awful lot of herbs and things. Greg would say he was only eleven and not to sweat it but after one such session Thomas had asked Uncle Gregory what a goldfish was and his uncle had replied it meant that Sherlock was an idiot. But Thomas didn't think that was true because his father was just the most brilliant person Thomas knew.
"You know, I told you about Uncle Mycroft's boyfriend. He's going to take me to the London Zoo and the British Museum. Uncle Mycroft wants him to look at schools for me which is just silly because everyone knows I'll be going to Hogwarts." Thomas lowered his voice and his lip trembled. "Uncle Mycroft mentioned Beauxbatons if Hogwarts doesn't want me. Lately he's being talking about Oxford but I can't find it in the list of approved Wizarding Schools. Is it in Australia?"
"Uncle Mycroft needs to keep his fat nose out of other people's affairs. I blame your father of course. What can you expect from family of a muggle lovers and addicts but bad blood? The Alder's have never had this problem since your great aunt Myrtle ran off with that wastrel." Irene turned back to stare out the window.
"What problem?"
Irene opened her mouth then closed it. "Your father will explain?" she walked back to the bed and leaned over. "Now kiss your mother goodbye."
"But mother? What about cousins Berties birthday. You said we could go."
"Not now Thomas, you are not well enough, maybe the next one when you feel better." She gave him a kiss to the forehead and Thomas watched as she left the room. She didn't even slam the door.
But best of all thought Thomas as he rolled over in bed, this home was much more restful and quite than sleeping in his mother's house with her continuous parties and friends. He really liked living in this house with its lack of drama.