Chapter Text
Receiving letters, in any capacity, is unusual. Especially for him, but most especially during the summer. He’s been at Hogwarts for 3 years and only recently started to make longer lasting acquaintances in his house. Even so, his best friend is just a stones throw away. So to receive an owl…
He sits at the park, fiddling with the expensive parchment, letting the sun catch its light against the golden wax seal, which also looks expensive. The House crest embedded in the wax, two crossed swords and an eagle in front with a crown — is unfamiliar to him. He debates with himself, for a long time, whether he should open the letter, or just toss it out. Flipping the letter over, he runs his thumb over the cursive spelling out his name and address. He doesn’t recognise the handwriting, not that he expected to with the unfamiliarity of everything of the letter.
Oddly enough, he doesn’t recognise his name either.
He’s at the park longer than he realises because he can see his best friend in the distance, obviously looking for him. He thinks he was supposed to show up for lunch, who knows what time it is now… Probably his friend.
He hears them call out his name and he raises his hand, in a lame greeting, only noticing belatedly that it’s the hand holding the letter. It’s slightly crumpled, now.
“Hi!” She says breathlessly as she bounds up to him. “Mama sent me to bring you lunch!” She holds up a picnic basket with whatever home-cooked meals Iris stuffed in there.
His lips quirk up in a faint smile and he easily trades over the crumpled, fancy letter for the picnic basket, wildly preferring to set up and ignore whatever is in the parchment. His best friend, however, is more than willing to get into the nit and grit of it all and neatly tears the letter open. She makes a noise of surprise and he looks up questioningly, to which she waves off as she reads the contents with more vigour. Should he be concerned?
He finishes setting up the extensive spread — did his best friend help charm an expansion charm on the basket? — and starts piling food onto his plate. The still-reading girl sits in front of him, mindlessly grabbing at a roll to chew on.
“Should I be worried?” He can’t help being curious now. Maybe he should have read it first.
She looks over at him, from above the parchment. “How much do you know about your mother’s family?”
He should have tossed the letter out.
If he’s squeezing his friend’s hand too hard, she doesn’t show it, looking around at their surroundings in thinly veiled awe. He wishes he can maintain an aura of nonchalance, but in the face of delicately carved Ionic columns, it’s hard not to be impressed. How his mother walked away from this life, is beyond him.
They follow the butler — “They hire people! Not elves!” — towards the back of the villa to meet his estranged family in the gardens. He feels short of breath, and really should loosen his grip but it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. He feels off kilter with the shrunken button-down shirt, courtesy of his friend’s father, and slightly too big dress shoes.
He swallows thickly as his estranged, on his mother’s side, family comes into view. His grandmother — what a thought, stands up gracefully with her arms out and welcoming.
“Stavros! It is such a pleasure to finally be able to see you and chat.”
He blinks a little at his name, but not really his name, and tries a smile. “It’s nice to meet you too, grandmother.”
She smiles warmly at him, no indication letting him know whether he’s actually grimacing or not. She turns her attention to his best friend. “You must be my grandson’s friend! My name is Arete, thank you so much for accepting my invitation. My husband, always working that man, should be on his way down. There was an issue or some such, at one of the apothecaries that needed specifically his attention. Do not fret, though, Ioannis is excited to meet his grandson.”
Stavros’ friend gives Arete a big smile back, “Thank you so much for inviting us in the first place! There has been many misconceptions about Stravos’ maternal family.”
Morgana, bless his friend for switching effortlessly to his true name. It’s as if she’s in his mind. She looks up at him briefly and winks. Huh.
“Yes, well,” Arete motions for them to sit down, before doing so herself. “Unfortunately, whenever our Eleni gets something in her head, it’s very hard to dissuade her from it. How much has your mother told you?”
Having had to let go of his friend’s hand to sit down, he clenches at his trousers, desperate for a tether. “She never seemed to want to talk about her family. Mother would prefer to live in the fantasy world that she made up; where I go to a regular boarding school and whatever is underneath the floorboards with her wand is just secrets left from previous tenants.”
Arete hums thoughtfully. “Eleni… she was a wonderful child, growing up. Raising her was such a gift,” she laughs reminiscently, “her brothers were such troublemakers, that it made raising her was such a breath of fresh air.”
“…Brothers?” Stavros, while unaware his maternal grandparents were still alive, is still surprised to learn he has uncles. Just what exactly was his mother hiding?
He gets a kind smile and a nod, “yes, you have 3 uncles. If you wish to keep in contact, then at another time you will be able to meet them and their families.”
“So why did Eleni run away?” Trust his friend to get straight to the point, like the—
“Is that what she said she did?” Stavros and his friend turn around at the older male voice.
Standing at 6 feet, his grandfather makes an imposing figure with perfect, not out of place robes, and a nose that looks just like Stavros’.
“Ioannis!” Arete scolds, “I was setting up the picture so they could get the context.”
He nods respectfully at the teens before rounding the table to kiss his wife’s cheek tenderly. “Is that what you were doing?” He says teasingly against her cheek. “You weren’t being dramatic?”
Arete scoffs playfully, “Of course I was being dramatic! I’m Greek, it’s in my blood!”
Ioannis chuckles, settling in the chair next to her. “Then, let’s tell the story right.”
1956
“Baba, I will not go! You cannot make me!” Eleni shouts.
Ioannis sighs tiredly, “Eleni, my dear, it is just temporary. You are unwell, and it is okay to accept help.”
“You just want to get rid of me! Save face because of what happened last week.” She gets close to her father, trying to taunt him. “I know what you’re doing. You can’t lie to me, Baba. You think I’m crazy because of a couple hexes, I know, but I’m not! I’m not!”
A father looks at his daughter with sorrow, desperate to help her in any capacity but not being able to force her if she does not want help. He knows the hexes she was hit with, knows that being cleansed professionally is the only way to help. Knows that she did her own cleansing ritual in a fit of desperation, but doesn’t know what ritual. He knows the book, a very worn down copy from Morgana herself, but Morgana truly isn’t the right one to look at answers for. Not for this — many apologies, Lady Morgana.
Ioannis gathers his daughter in his arms, in what he doesn’t know is the last time, and kisses the top of her head, lovingly. “My only daughter, I have only prayed to the gods for your care and safety. I know that you have performed a ritual on yourself to become better, but Morgana truly isn’t the one to help with your condition.”
Eleni sobs into her father’s chest, “you hate me, you hate me, you hate me!”
“Quite the opposite, my dear.”
Suddenly, Eleni rips herself from the comfort of her father’s arms, with a look of fury on her face. “If you cannot accept that I am in all my sense, then you should never have the pleasure of looking upon me ever again!”
Arete touches her daughter’s elbow, which is promptly taken away, “My light, please we just want what’s best for you.”
A sharp laugh echoes the hall, “NO! You just want to tie me down, keep me chained! I know, I know! I’ve been hearing it this entire time, they tell me you’re all LIARS!”“They?” Arete asks cautiously.
Eleni sneers, “You don’t understand and you could never hope to!” With that declaration, she stuns her parents with a swiftness they have never seen, and runs out of their life for good.
When the spell wore out, they spent the next couple of days, weeks, years trying to track down their suddenly evasive daughter. It wasn’t until 1959, that they received proof of life.
Arete was in the family library, researching as she always seemed to be doing nowadays, when the family magic tugged, making her look up. She looks around in confusion, the family magic rarely makes itself known unless its a major event happening — anything from weddings to war. She lets herself be led out of her nook and down the portrait hall, where at the end she stops at the wall displaying the family tree.
Leaning in close, she follows the lines of her children, landing on her daughter, Eleni Maria. She watches as the tree updates in real time, joining her in marriage to a man with a non-magical name and a line coming down from that union. Tears fill up in her eyes, as it seems her daughter had a moment of clarity naming her grandson. She reaches out shakily to trace the delicate gold words, Stavros Ioannis.
1972
“So, mother is sick?”
His friend sighs angrily, as if this topic has come up many times. “Yes, we know she’s sick and yes, she might have moments of clarity that you cherish; but Stavros, that is not an excuse for letting that abu—”
Stavros shoves a mini sandwich into her mouth, interrupting an argument he can repeat in his sleep. “I am well aware of every angle you have repeatedly brought up, but that is still my mother. Yes it sucks that her husband is less than the ideal man, and it doesn’t take away that she could still be helped!”
Ioannis leans forward to take his grandson’s hands in his. “My son, you are as stubborn as she is, however with how many years it has been, I’m afraid that her malady has grown well into her mind and magic. It would take many experimental research to try and help, but we would have to still convince Eleni to get the help she needs.”
Stavros doesn’t want to hear it, yet he knows deep down his mother will refuse any help even in her most clearest moments. “Can we still try?” He asks feeling very much younger than he is.
Arete smiles sorrowfully, as if she has no hope left in her to feel for her daughter. “Yes, my dear, we can try.”
Trying is all for naught, it seems, for when they arrive, the door is slightly ajar with a sense of foreboding.
Stavros quickly pushes his way inside, ignoring the calls for him to wait. Inside, he immediately drops, finding his mother laying on the floor, in an angle he can’t imagine to be comfortable, and his father on the couch next to her, bottle in hand chest rising softly.
“Mother,” he whispers, familiar with this routine. Wake up his mother softly, to not wake up his father, guide her to her room and hide in his, waiting for the inevitable wake up of anger his father will have later.
He crawls to her and gently shakes her shoulder. The movement makes her head loll to the side, exposing a very bloody wound to the temple. Swallowing thickly, he calls out again.
“Mum, wake up.”
A hand lands on his shoulder, and he looks up at the blurry figure that is his grandfather. Behind him is Arete and his friend.
“Stavros,” Ioannis starts off gently.
Shaking his head, Stavros looks back at his mum. “Mama, you can wake up now. There’s a lot to talk about.”His father lets out a waking groan, which he ignores in favour of speaking louder and jostling his mum a little more firmly. “Mama, wake up now! Please, wake up!”Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his friend kneel down next to him, and she gently takes his hands and cradles them gently in hers. He looks to her and only sees her gentle face twisted in empathy, and he can’t help but collapse into her arms sobbing, fiercely.
“What do I do now, Lily?”