Benjamin,

Why have you not come to visit your mother? You should know that you only have the one! I worry about you so far away in the city by yourself. You work too much, you haven't had a girlfriend, and we only hear from you on the weekend that you help with the stall. Please, give your mother some peace of mind and come stay for a weekend. Your father would be pleased to have an extra hand around the farm. The twins have some years to age before they can even push a wheel barrel. Think about it, won't you?

Always with love,

Mother

Benjamin carefully folded the letter and slipped it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. He was fully outfitted in his motorcycle clad with tall, heavy boots and round, blue-tinted sunglasses to complete the "mysterious" look.

He brushed his hair back as he let out a long breath. He had been expecting such a letter, as it had been a couple months since his last adventure to Hendrix Farms.

The last time he was out, his father has tried convincing him to move back home, telling him they would "set him up his own plot with a cabin and some livestock". It was what he knew best; it was what he was good at. But being in the country and cooped up like the fire-breathing chickens they keep, he had felt sheltered apart from his classmates in school. After the war, it seemed prudent to him that he leave home and "find himself". It had been four years, and not much progress on that front to be made. Perhaps he had begun to feel complacent, or perhaps he was only enjoying a more physical rest. Benjamin was now

He left his dark apartment to enter a comparatively dark and gloomy London. He was off for the day and quite bored out of his wits. A drive around town should be better than sitting at home playing video games, right?

The V-twin motor on the 1999 Indian Chief chopper screamed and groaned through the tail pipe as it was awoken from its slumber. Benjamin fitted his gloves and plugged the earbuds of his iPod into his ears as the engine oil warmed up.

Benjamin scrolled down in his musical library to "Eminence Front" by The Who. He heeled back the kickstand, gave some gas and let off the clutch as the main beat in the song began to orchestrate in his ears. He was in his own world.

The music was on full blast and the extra vibration from the machine between his legs started to tear at the stress from the past few weeks.

The wind whipped his hair behind him and pushed his glasses flush against his face. The cold air filling his lungs and stinging his nose, ears, and lips would be blissful to him. A physical feeling more than just exhaustion. Exhilaration. Confidence. Freedom. A smile crept slowly onto his face as the vehicles in front of him turned opposite directions, clearing the way for him.

Benjamin dropped a gear and hit the gas. The RPMs jumped and the rumble of the 4-stroke engine blocked the music in his ears. He hollered out loudly, not caring who heard or saw - including the local authorities.

Thankfully, this was not an unlucky early-afternoon for Mr. Hendrix. He found himself around the area that the coffee shop was where he first bumped into Hermione.

Maybe, he thought. The song had now changed. "Drive" by Incubus began to play through the earbuds when he pulled up beside the shop in a parking spot. He didn't plan on going in, just checking to see if maybe she was there.

She was not.

A little disheartened but not upset, he continued on his round trip until he found himself back home.

The ride gave him time to come up with a decision. He packed up a singular black duffel bag with some old clothes - mostly stained jeans, plain t-shirts, and flannel button-ups - and a few toiletries, just enough for a weekend. As much as he would enjoy staying home and being able to relax when and how he pleases, Benjamin could not stand the thought of upsetting his mother.

Before long, he had Apparated from his apartment in London to about fifty yards from the front door to his parents' American-style farmhouse. The white-washed wood paneling on the exterior had some spots of peeling and natural wear from the years. A large porched wrapped around the entire two-story home, which contained many windows on all sides (his mother insisted on plenty of natural lighting during building). A chimney could be spotted near the front-center of the farmhouse and a thick forest surrounded the back and left side of the house while a sizable, open field lay just to the right of the house and extended back until it met the forest. Many pens and livestock houses were placed rather oddly around the tree line and filling in small spots in the field.

Familiar sounds of chickens clucking and the scent of Mooncalf dung filled his nose. As his shoes collected dust while walking up the dirt path to the house, the screen door busted open like a bull had run out of it.

"Oh, my son!" An older woman with dark brown haired pulled back into a bun, a few stray hairs waving happily in the breeze. Her eyes were watery as she made her way quickly down the porch steps to meet the young man she had missed so much. Before they were close enough to embrace, two smaller, younger voices were heard.

"Benny! Benny home!"

"Yay, bubby!"

He looked over his mother's shoulder (bending his knees to get more level to her) as they pulled each other in to their first embrace in months. The sight had nearly made his own eyes water.

Two toddlers crawled backwards down the porch steps, painting the knees of their pants with the dust that had collected since this morning. Their tiny, sweaty feet getting dirtier by the second as they tried their best to run towards their older brother.

He let go of his mother and held open his arms for Leonardo and Lilith. They ran right into them and he scooped them up without difficulty. They giggled as they wrapped their tiny arms around his neck, pulling a few of the scraggly hairs on his face and smooshing his cheeks together. How they had missed him, and, boy, how he missed them.

He carried them up to the house while the family house-elf, Woody, carried Benjamin's duffel bag behind them (he was, of course, thanked for this service as the Hendrix did not treat their house-elf like most "traditional" families do).

"Where is Dad?" Benjamin inquired.

"Oh, he's around somewhere, dear. Perhaps in the shed? Why don't you go find him? I'll ask Woody to take your bag up to your room."

My room, Benjamin repeated to himself in his head. He hadn't officially lived in the house in five years, since he graduated from Hogwarts, but his mother had always made a point to let her sons know that they always had a place "here at home".

He sat the twins down on the porch and watched as they all made their way into the house. He rounded towards the back of the house on the side where the field lay. Directly behind the house was a rickety, wooden colonial shed that mimicked the style of a small barn. The outside of the shed hadn't been maintained as much as the farmhouse itself. One of the two doors was completely shut but the other remained ajar.

As Benjamin got closer, he heard the sounds of light banging and the occasional sound of a hand saw burrowing into plywood. He didn't bother knocking, he knew it would be unnecessary.

"Howdy, Benjamin." His father piped up from a dark corner. His back was turned to him as he was hunched over a wooden work table, carpentry tools, supplies, and sawdust were scattered on the surface. A small work light placed above him, only seeming to give off an ambient glow rather than sufficient work lighting.

"Hi, Dad. You know, I still don't get how you do that." Benjamin replied as he came up behind his father and slapped his hand down on his shoulder. His father reach over and gripped his hand tightly, but only for a second. Benjamin could see he was building a small carrying box out of raw pine.

"Ben, I have watched you since you were just a baby. You've always been heavier in the feet than your brothers. It's no magic, you're just loud."

They both shared a small chuckle. Atticus Hendrix placed the tools in his hands on the table in front of him, stood up from his seat, and turned with open arms to his boy.

Benjamin entered a strong embrace, both of them patting each other's shoulders.

"Been thinkin' about ya. You ain't no city-slicker, son. And I can feel you're missing out on your mother's cooking," Dad said as he held his son at arms length, gripping his upper arms for a few seconds before letting go.

Benjamin ruffled the back of his hair with his now-free hand. "I eat enough."

His father smirked and shook his head as he began to walk out of the shed, Benjamin staggering a bit behind.

"I'm glad yer here, Ben. Your mother has been going on about you and Finn for the past few weeks. She said she wrote you a letter. Pleased to see you didn't upset your mother by not coming by." His father's American accent to sounded similar to his own voice. It was deep and the pronunciation on certain words reminded him of the homelands where his father was from: an Indigenous reservation in North Dakota. If you couldn't tell by the physical similarities, you could tell by their dialect that the apple didn't fall far from the tree.

They found theirselves inside the house. Atticus washed his dirt-stained hands as best he could before cupping his wife's face and planting a kiss on her forehead. She gave a genuine smile as she told them that "lunch will be ready in just a bit".

Cora poured both of her men a tall glass of "Southern iced tea", which was a genetic favorite of Atticus and many of their children.

Benjamin and his father took their drinks outside onto the front porch where some rocking, wicker chairs was situated. They placed their bottoms in seats next to each other. A silence filled the air as Ben sat and enjoyed the familiar sounds of rural silence, apart from the sounds of animals all over the property. It was more calming than the sounds of the bustling city. He didn't miss his apartment just yet.

"I'm proud of ya, y'know," his father said coolly, staring out ahead of him towards the dirt driveway. "This is the only life I've ever known. I don't think I'da ever had the courage to do what you did. I know you found some trouble in the first few years out there in the city but you're alive, you're clean, you're healthy."

Benjamin was unsure what to say. It had been awhile since him and his father had the opportunity to have a meaningful conversation, and usually the conversations weren't as heartfelt. His father was known as a kind man but he was also tough-and-gruff when needed. They were qualities Ben always admired, and attempted his hardest to replicate.

"I feel better than I did. Actually I... I think I need some help - or advice. I'm not entirely sure which..." Benjamin stammered out.

Atticus had just finished lighting a rather large cigar (he usually smoked a pipe of cherry or regular tobacco as cigars were usually lit only on occasions) before speaking, "It's about that pretty girl with the nice clothes in 'The Alley', ain't it?"

Dad didn't miss a beat. It proved opposing in Benjamin's mischievous teenage years. He looked away from his father, towards his left where the open field's green grass moved in the familiar, inconsistent unison like waves in an ocean. Benjamin tried to puff his chest a bit, attempting to come play it off a bit aloof.

"Yes. I mean, it's not serious or anything but-"

His father smiled around the smoking log hanging from his lips. "But you actually like her and you don't wanna screw it up. Am I right?"

Ben released his chest and gave a sigh of defeat. "Correct," he responded with a bit of anxiety. "We didn't have a particularly pleasant meeting. She did come by the 'Cauldron' with the help of you two."

"Your mother talked about it the rest of the day," Dad said with enthusiasm. He leaned over the arm of the chair towards his son, taking the cigar from his mouth and holding it between his light-brown fingers. "Look, Ben. I know who she is. I've seen her picture in the paper plenty-" he motioned inside the house "-and a young lady like that, going out and looking for ya'... Well, I can tell she has her stuff together." He leaned back into his chair, putting the hot cigar back in his mouth.

"And that seems to be where I'm getting confused. I know who she is, too. I went to school with her for five years and I don't think she knew I existed," he quieted his voice, "we come from different worlds, Dad. I don't know. I've been bouncing back and forth between just dropping it and trying."

"Well, why on Earth, son, would you just drop it? I basically just told ya that young ladies like that ain't coming around here often looking for ya. I bet she'd be willing to give you a shot if you at least took one."

Ben rubbed his temples to relieve some of the tension that had began to build up. "You don't think I have too much on my plate to start dating? I barely have time to myself these days."

"As I told you earlier, I don't think you have enough on your plate-"

"That's not what I meant, Dad," Benjamin interrupted.

"-but if it is work you're worried about, well, your mother and I won't have a problem figuring it out. You're gonna be twenty-four years old this year, Ben. By the time I was your age, I was married with one child and another on the way. I don't regret a thing."

Ben scratched his forehead now. A lot of information was coming and going. It feels like forever since he was able to get things off his mind, vocally, to someone who could provide influential and insightful input.

His mother called them both in for lunch. Atticus took the rest of the day off from working so that everyone could enjoy the company of a near-full house. Hazel had arrived during the evening, more than surprised to see her big brother tending the fireplace in the living room. After the twins were put in their shared bed (they would escape from separate beds to sleep together, eventually Atticus took one of them out so they could share) and their parents bid them goodnight, wandering up the stairs, the two siblings remained by the fair, catching up and chatting.

Inside the house was quiet, but the wind howled outside and moon beams cast shadows from the window plants onto the kitchen floor, visible from the living room. The pleasant smell of burning wood filled the warm farmhouse, such a normality since their childhood. The fire had died down now, and soon the house would cool off until the bright sun rays of the July morning engulfed the family home once again.