Chapter 2: Family Bonding
29th August 2019

Seb POV

Hearing the word 'family' actually makes me shudder. That's because whenever I hear that word it means it is 29th August. 29th August means a day out. A day out means going to a loch not too far from where we live in Stirlingshire and having to fake niceness to each other, as if we really care about what the other one feels like. One thing Muggle that my parents do support is cars. They love them. My grandmother takes a lot of convincing to get into one but we always manage it, nonetheless. Then we drive. Jonny gets car sick and usually vomits spectacularly over Rick, who is three years younger than me and always ends up sat next to our youngest sibling. Mother just laughs and clears it up with her wand, and Jules always giggles at Rick's face as he tries not to throw up as well. I sit in the very back of the car with Ariella and Stephen, the middle child. He reads whilst my grandmother tests my Occlumency ability in total silence, as I pretend to read over my brother's shoulder.

This day is no different. We piled into the car, Rick learning from past error and covering his lap with a coat. Father buckled Juliana in, since she was going through an 'I can't do anything myself, treat me like a baby' phase, and Mother placed Jonny into his car seat. I caught him give Rick a mischievous grin as Mother shut the door. I helped my grandmother in beside me, holding her wrinkled hand in my rough one. Stephen frowned at my grandmother's sudden frailty and my uncharacteristically compassionate gesture. I leant over and shut the door behind her, and she gave me a quick wink. I gave a sly smile, the only kind that I'm any good at, and sat down again.

The journey was pretty uneventful. Jonny was only sick three times, most of which went over Rick, although Juliana had a fit when some got her dress. Father took out his wand and cleared her up in a second, but it took some tough convincing from me to stop her having a fully fledged tantrum in the middle of Muggle Scotland. Jules' tantrums usually involve explosions of the extremely dramatic sort. Mother scolded me for ignoring Jonny's question, whilst I was concentrating on blocking my grandmother from reading what was going through my mind, and that was the highlight of the journey.

As usual, we drove to an area, over steep rock faces and undulating hills, where Muggles never went. Mother whipped out her wand and in seconds, everything was laid out for us. I sat with Jules and Ariella, whilst Jonathan sat on Mother's lap. The older boys sat with Father, who was trying to get my grandmother to let Juliana sit with her mother. His attempts failed, as Jules cuddled against our grandmother who, in turn, put a protective arm around her and hissed. I disguised a smile as a cough, which Ariella noted and smirked at.

It seemed like hours had passed. The eight of us sat in complete silence, which was occasionally broken by the cry of a crow or the crunch of a crisp. I looked out over the loch. The clouds were beginning to form overhead. It was beginning to feel muggy and damp: the best type of weather, in my opinion. It would mean that we could pack up and go home, and I wouldn't have to pretend to care what Patrick was going to do after his OWLs, or which house Stephen hoped to be put in. My mother followed my gaze.

"It's okay. We can put a charm up," she suggested, misunderstanding my glance to the skies, and pulled Jonny further back on her lap, holding him tightly. Last year, Stephen had fallen ill on the trip and Jonny, in a search for Mother's attention, had run off. I was forced to wander around on the muddy, dank lakeside looking for the four-year-old and managed to find him about to jump into the lake. The suicidal tendencies of our family started early in him. I did consider letting him do it, just to see what Mother would do, before thinking that my grandmother would be oddly disappointed in me if I let my brother drown, and grabbed his arm as he took another sure step towards the bank. He screamed the place down and Father had to Silence him in order for me to regain some sense of hearing. My stomach was bruised for weeks afterwards where the stupid child had kicked me trying to squirm his way out of my deathly tight grasp. I cheered myself up with the thought that he too had been bruised by the hold I had on his tiny body: finger shaped marks on either side of his rib cage. It was only my father's kind nature that prevented me from being hexed into next year by my mother, who cooed and fussed over Jonathan every moment of the day until I started back at school.

This time, she clearly wasn't going to let him wander off, and whilst she played I-Spy with him, Stephen was feeding his face, Rick was trying to tan but failing miserably and Ariella was playing with Jules' blonde curls. Father was watching everyone serenely and I felt the urge to punch him, just to see if I'd get a reaction from him. He's never shouted at me, never so much as raised his voice to my siblings, not once. When I can't sleep, I think about what it would take to get him to react, just a little bit. It would have to be something major, something serious in the long-term. I considered dropping out of school, then realised he'd just tell me that it was fine if it was what I really wanted. Maybe assaulting someone would do the job? But if I did that, then I'd have to restrain myself from going too far. My self-restraint is extremely low. I can change mood in a second, like an elastic band snapping back into place. It takes very little for me to get out of control.

I didn't even hear my father coming up behind me. He put a hand on my shoulder, which made me cringe. I turned to face him and he gestured for me to follow him. He released his hand but still I felt the shape of it burning into me. I didn't say a word, didn't meet my grandmother's curious gaze or my mother's glare, just got up and followed my father away from the site and over to a shade of trees. He was stood against an old birch tree, his greying hair slicked back from his face as though he was trying to be like some Muggle film star. I leant against the tree opposite him, more casually like this was a fleeting conversation.

"Sebastian," he began, slowly and deliberately. His voice was quite high pitched, for a man, nowhere as deep as my own. It was soft, as though he was scared of causing me offence. He always called me by my full name, not understanding that I hated it intensely. "Are you okay?" I knew it. I bloody knew it. That was all he wanted: to know if I was all right.

"I'm fine." It came out a little harsher than usual and I noticed him cower a little. I'm much taller than him, almost half a foot taller, in fact: a trait I inherited from my mother's family.

"I have been meaning to talk to you, Sebastian." That's another of the million things that annoy me about my father: his habit of adding your name to almost every sentence he says. I look at him expectantly, trying to look as interested in possible and failing miserably.

"I think you need to start looking at what you want to do next year. You only have one year left at Hogwarts, Sebastian. You have no idea what you want to do with your life. Don't you think you should be out there, looking?" I shrugged. He was right: I had no idea what I wanted to do. Seventeen isn't an age that a person should have to make such a big decision. He sighed.

"Honestly, Sebastian." I knew he was thinking that if it were Rick or Stephen in my position, they'd have made their choices by now and be well on the way to achieving their goals. "Do you have to be so indifferent to everything?" Although his voice was as boring as ever, it did seem to have an edge to it as he said this, a slightly annoyed edge. It summed everything up so perfectly. Had he never heard of the saying 'The opposite of love is not hate. It is indifference?' Maybe then he'd understand. I yearned to say it, just get it over with, but I opted for a shrug. His nostrils flared slightly.

"What I am trying to say to you, Sebastian," I cringed, "is that I can offer you a job as an Obliviator in my department, if you would like to accept it. You will start from the bottom. I will not give favouritism just because you are my son. There is a genuine opening for next September. At least promise me that you will consider it." I tried not to look as horrified as I felt inside. Working with my father would be a fate worse than death. I looked down at him and sighed.

"Whatever. I'll think about it." I could at least pretend to show a mild interest, just to get him off my back. He seemed satisfied with this answer and nodded slowly, the silver in his moustache glinting in the sunlight that was straining to break through the clouds above our heads. He suggested we return. "I'd rather stay here for a second." He knew why, and gave me a disapproving look.

"If you must," he then conceded, walking off and not looking back. As soon as he was out of sight, I pulled a packet of cigarettes from my coat pocket. It was a habit I picked up in my third year, the influence of a Muggle-born fifth-year student who offered me one when I bumped into her in the Forest. She assured me that we wouldn't get caught, and that was when the addiction started. She supplied me with the cigarettes, and I snuck into Hogsmeade where I found cheap scent modifiers in the back of the Three Broomsticks, designed to change the smell of the smoke. I affixed the tiny pad to the darker end of the cigarette and lit it with my wand. The fumes turned a light purple, and I inhaled the lavender scent deeply.

Both of my parents deeply disapprove of my habit. They see it as dirty and disgusting, despite the fact that it in no way affects them. They refuse to let me do it in front of my siblings, although it never stops me if they're not around. My grandmother, whilst disapproving, is slightly more lenient and lets me stay in the house and do it, providing I use the rose petal scent. I slid down the tree and closed my eyes. The sounds of chirping and cooing from a nest somewhere in the wood were driving me insane, their shrillness making my ears scream in agony. I tried to block it out, to block out every noise except my own breathing, gentle and carrying on the light breeze that was ruffling my hair. I pulled my knees up towards me and wrapped my arms around them, the cigarette in my right hand was blowing the smoke back into my face. I coughed loudly and let a small sigh escape my mouth. The birds were still shrieking into my ears and I groaned a little, letting my head loll to one side. I wished I could just wander off, leave and live away from this hell I call my family. I had the urge to open my eyes and look across to them, but to do so would be to appear that I cared. I closed off the squeals from Jonny as somebody tickled him, and the low voice of my middle brother, discussing houses with Patrick. I pulled the cigarette to my lips again and took another drag.

"Have you ever been in love, Seb?" I choked on the smoke at the question from my little sister, who had appeared at my side from nowhere. My eyes flew open and I saw her standing there, rocking back and forth on her heels and looking at me with her big green eyes. Her white dress fluttered in the breeze and I stretched out my legs and arms, tiredly. I patted my knee and she sat on my lap. I wrapped my arms around her, the smoke tickling her chin. She screwed up her nose a little and giggled. I smiled a little too.

"No, Jules," I replied. "Where's that nonsense come from?" It was probably those stupid fairytales that Father insisted on buying her from a Muggle bookshop last week. She shivered a bit as the breeze picked up and I put the cigarette down to hold her a little closer. She shrugged against my chest and I rolled my eyes, lifting the cigarette back to my mouth.

"Why not? Have you never had a girlfriend?" she raised her eyebrows at me. I could tell the truth, of course, but to tell an eight-year-old that her brother has only ever had casual make-out sessions in empty classrooms would be a bit over the top.

"One, Jules. Just the one, and no, I didn't love her," I added, anticipating her next question, "she wasn't a nice person." Oh the irony. The only girl I'd ever thought about being in the slightest bit serious with was one of the nicest girls I'd ever met: Grace O'Donnell, two years older than me and a Ravenclaw. If I hadn't tried to take it too far with her, who knows? Maybe we'd be together. As it was, I got a slap from Grace and a week of the cold shoulder from Dana who disapproved of my 'antics', as she phrased it. Juliana gave up at this. I took a final drag, pushed her a little bit to signal for her to get up, and I put out the cigarette on the ground at my side.

I hauled myself up, dusted off my hands and followed my sister out of the wood, watching her blonde hair, so different from my own rich brown, flying in the wind as she ran to the blanket. I pity her, sometimes, the fact that she still has ten years to live with this horrible falsity. I suppose that she's done better than my brothers, all of whom seem content with the mess-up we call family. At least she knows that Father is a pathetic excuse of a man, who tries too hard to gain affection from his children. She's bright enough to have learnt that you can use him and abuse him very easily. I sometimes wish that Mother would show a little more interest in her. Jules tries her hardest. If you look past the bratty stage she's going through, she yearns for Mother to hug her and kiss her more often than the once a day that she does. I noted the way she's cradling Jonathan like a baby in her arms and I saw how Jules was looking anywhere but there as she snuggled against Father, just for his warmth. The sky looked bleaker and bleaker above our heads. In the distance, I could see a boat on the loch, rowing back to shore. I sat down beside Stephen who was spread out across the blanket with a plate of food in front of him.

"You're going to get fat," I told him bluntly as he shovelled a third slice of Victoria sponge into his mouth. He glared at me and grinned, the cake smeared across his lips and teeth. "Wow. That is exactly what Hogwarts has been waiting for." He grunted through his mouthful and Father scolded him lightly. Stephen scowled at me, with eyes just like those of our sister, and turned back to his plate. In a few days time, he'd be going into his first year of Hogwarts, just as innocently as I had. He would never be put in Slytherin, though. He doesn't have a nasty bone in his body. He's a little gluttonous, but that's the only sin he could be accused of. He takes after Father, in that respect, both of the elder two do. It's only me and Jules who are more like Mother, and Johnny, who no-one can figure out.

After I gave up on trying to wind Stephen up, I fell backwards, lying down with my hands crossed across my flat stomach. I looked up to where the sun was straining, to no avail, to break through the clouds like a child fighting his older, stronger siblings. I let myself relax and thought about Juliana's question: 'Have you ever been in love?' It was a strange question for her to come out with, really. Love wasn't something that was spoken about in our family, not unless it was a very special occasion. Our parents didn't marry for love, Mother married for money, Father married because he thought it was the right thing to do. My mum had been introduced to him when she was thirteen and he a good thirteen years older than that. My father and my grandfather had sat down and in minutes, just like they were living in the 1800s, they had arranged for my mother to marry him when she turned eighteen, had she not found a suitable husband. My grandfather was determined to get all of his daughters married off into 'good' families: her eldest sister, Anna, married into the Goyle family, Aunt Elinor was betrothed to the son of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after the war, Jack Minchin, and Aunt Cassandra met a French pureblood who my grandfather greatly approved of. And so Mother agreed that she would not mind marrying who she perceived to be a handsome gentleman, and on her eighteenth birthday she and my father wed. Of course, what they hadn't planned for was for Mother to fall pregnant with me when she was barely nineteen. It's something I don't really think about a lot, but now I'm gaining on that age, I wonder how my mother must have felt. I may be mature for my age, but never in a million years would I feel ready to get married to anyone, let alone to someone almost twice my own age, or be ready to have a kid.

They hide it well, it must be said. Father worships my mother; he treats her like a goddess. Stephen believes that they fell involuntarily in love. I prefer to think that he's hiding something from us and Mother is blackmailing him into keeping it quiet. Of course, my much more optimistic siblings think them having 'alone time' is sweet, whilst me and Patrick (who is becoming much more cynical in his old age, like me) know that if we pressed our ears to the door, we'd hear noises that no child ever wants to hear from their parents' bedroom.

I opened my eyes slightly to look at them, intrigue getting the better of me. Jules was still huddled up against Father, who was engaging Stephen in conversation about some Potion book or another. Mother was holding Jonny tightly and scolding Patrick for apparently letting Juliana eat too many biscuits, whilst Ariella stared into space. I suppose it is normal, and to an outside eye, maybe it would seem like we all love each other.

I closed my eyes once more, wishing that my family would admit that perfection is not just a visual art. My mother's kind voice and my father's soothing gestures may look the part, but I know that he's just thinking about work tomorrow, and that Mother can't wait for me and the elder boys to leave so she gets a little piece and quiet. Patrick is dying to go back, and Stephen is itching to leave for the first time. Juliana can't wait to be the centre of Daddy's attention again, and Jonny's too little to know anything different, and as for me? Well, I don't know which is worse: a place where everything is so horribly false it makes me want to permanently cringe, or a place where everything I do means nothing? It doesn't mean much to me either way. At least I express my distaste for the whole situation, at least I don't pretend that everything is okay when it is clear that it isn't, at least I know that this family is not, has never been and will never be perfect, and that's all I can expect.

A/N: Okay, I've never done this before but since I've only had two reviews on this story (and this is possibly the best thing I've published on this site), if I don't get 100 hits (I'm currently on 46. It's pathetic) and another couple of decent reviews, it's coming down. I've got 34 reviews on the same story published on HPFF, and nearly 1000 hits.

Merritt – thank you so much for your reviews. They mean a lot. If (When) I do take this down, you can still find it on Harry Potter – I have the same username, and you can sign anonymous reviews there too.