A Different Life

A Different Life

***

Chapter One

Arrivals and Departures

'For the love of God, it has been ten hours, how much longer will this take?' a man said gruffly as he paced a generic looking white corridor.

'Patience, these things can take time,' a woman said wearily, clearly this was not the first time she had said those words to the man.

'I am running out of "patience," woman! I have a business to run; can you not do something about this? Isn't there some sort of medication you can use to speed things along?'

'If it was in my power I would have done that hours ago,' the woman snapped back, her own patience reaching its limit. 'Though if you ask me, I think you're the one that needs the chemist.'

'I did not ask you, and I will thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,' the man grumbled and shot a glare at the woman.

'Right then, I'll just go check for the umpteenth time and see what's going on. Try not to cause any more trouble than you already have,' she said rather flippantly, and before the man could answer she dashed back into the room they had been standing in front of, closing the door firmly behind her.

The man glared at the door for a moment, as if he could somehow will it back open then admitted to defeat. He sank down onto a chair that was opposite the door, his eyes staring at the doorknob for any sign that it would re-open. When several minutes went by and no one emerged he began to get irritated. When nearly fifteen minutes went by and still nothing, he began to pace again. Another hour later without a single peep from the woman was now driving him nearly insane. Just as the man was about to enter the room, another woman came out nearly bumping into him. The much older woman stared at the tall, broody man for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then smiled as she held something out to him.

'Well go on now,' she said after a minute when it became clear the man could only stare at the bundle in her arms. ''E's not goin' ta bite ya ... not yet anyways,' she chuckled.

'It ... it is a boy?' the man asked in a low, awed voice, his eyes riveted to the bundle he now held in his arms.

The woman snorted. 'Well sure 'e is, what'cha think 'e were? Margaret, didn' come out and tell ya?'

The woman from before, apparently she had been Margaret, now stepped out of the room and gave the first woman a sharp nod. She then smoothed her skirt down, straightened her small white hat with the red cross emblazoned on it, and looked at the man critically. She'd seen all types of people on this job, but the man was clearly going to be the most memorable one for a while. Not because he was a looker, he wasn't, in fact he was far from that as anyone could be.

He had pale skin as if he never saw sunlight, a hooked nose, short cropped black hair, and black eyes that stared at you like liquid hot coals, as if they were peering right into your soul. His clothes were all black, except for a white shirt buttoned to the top of his collar, and a large silver pinkie ring that looked like some sort of family crest. He was also tall, at least six foot and four if the woman judged correctly, but that's not even what made him memorable.

It was the fact that he was completely out of place in this small hospital in Tregaron, Wales with it's with its white-washed corridors and antiseptic smells. Margaret knew this man though; he wasn't one of the local families that usually bartered for services rendered. This man's family tree dated back in the small town of Tregaron for as long as anyone could remember, in fact the family held a title of nobility.

His was an odd family tree now that Margaret recalled, always on the quiet side and rarely seen about the village. What she knew of this man was that he had been an only child; his parents had died under mysterious circumstances when he was very young, and from that moment on he hadn't been seen. He had been sent off to Eton, then Oxford as was typical of the nobility, but it wasn't until recently that he'd returned back to Wales. No one had even known the man had married until he'd arrived at the small hospital with his wife in labour.

Even his sudden re-appearance wasn't what made this man stand out, what made him memorable to the nurses at Maesyrawel Hospital was that he was the husband of the small, fragile, rather attractive woman in the room beyond. Margaret wondered how on earth such a dour, sullen man had managed to capture such a sweet, caring, quiet woman, not that it had been her place to ask, let alone the right time. Even during the agony of her labour the woman hadn't done more than whimper slightly, no crying or screaming as was normal.

Margaret couldn't help but wonder at what kind of child would be produced from such an oddly placed union of sweet and sour parentage. From what she'd seen of the babe after he was born he was already like his father in looks, though in personality he was taking after his mother, far too quiet for a newborn to be.

She gave up her thoughts, however, when she noticed that the man was now fidgeting and glancing at the door behind her. She could see that he wanted to go into the room, but was keeping himself from entering for reasons Margaret couldn't understand. It was as if he was fighting some sort of battle within himself, though apparently he was losing the battle. Margaret had a good feeling now of what was making the man now give both her and her assistant nervous glances.

'My wife ... what of her?' the man finally asked, his gaze focused on the door.

Margaret glanced into the room a moment, then turned back and looked at the man sadly. 'There were many complications --'

'She's dead?' the man cut in, his voice for the first time showing signs of a worried tremor.

'No, but she is very weak. I'm sorry, she ... she most likely will not make it,' Margaret replied.

The man didn't say anything, he just held his head up stiffly and shifting the small bundle in his arms walked into the room, closing the door behind them. He lay the child down in a bassinet that was near the single bed in the room, then went over and sat down on a chair next to the bed, taking the small woman's hand in his own.

'He is a fine lad, Sascha,' he said quietly, brushing aside her still sweaty fringe. 'He shall be just like you, you will see,' he said with a faint smile.

The man glanced at the bassinet, thankfully, the boy seemed to be doing all right, if not oddly quiet and reserved for one just born. The woman in the bed didn't respond to her husband's words though; instead, her eyes remained closed, her breathing shallow and weak. It wasn't until after the man had stepped from the room to attend to the child's soft croons of hunger that the brown haired, brown-eyed woman stirred. She breathed in deeply; wincing in pain as she let her breath trickle out then gazed longingly at the empty bassinet.

'My poor child ... your name shall be a stigma to you ... but may it give you the strength ... to fight the obstacles now in your path. Now I shall give you my only gift ... may it one day bring you happiness ... and love,' she said tenderly. She then whispered under her breath what appeared to be a prayer, and when she finished she smiled as she took her final breath.

***

The funeral took place three days later, a quiet ceremony with only a few in attendances, although now only a tall dark-haired man with a bundle of blankets in his arms remained. The rest of the small gathering already had said their condolences and were returning back to their daily lives, but not the man, not just yet. There was still too much to sort out, the quiet bundle in his arms a reminder of that.

'She will be dearly missed, Trystan, she was a wonderful woman,' a soft voice said behind him.

Trystan stiffened but didn't turn round; instead, he turned his gaze to the sleeping child in his arms. 'I have no doubt she will be,' he said in a hard voice. 'I only wish our son would have known how wonderful a woman she was.'

'He will, Trystan, her memory will live on through you, as long as you let it,' the other person said and gazed down at the small child. 'Have you given any thoughts as to the boy's future?'

Now Trystan did turn round and looked at the man who'd spoken, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'Why? Do you mean to take him from me? Is that why you are here?' he asked.

The man shook his head, putting his hands up in defence. 'I'm merely curious. Are you going to be able to take care of him? How do you plan on raising him?'

'I see what you are getting at, but you may as well turn round and leave right now, for you will not like my answers. I will raise him as I see fit, and I will take none of your foolish meddling in my affairs,' Trystan said firmly.

'You don't mean to raise him away from what he is, do you?' the man asked in surprise.

'I most certainly do,' Trystan said crossly, once more turning to look down at the grave. 'Whilst Sascha was alive I tolerated much for her sake, but she is dead now, and I do not have to tolerate your meddling in our life any longer. This is my son, and I will decide what is best for him, not you.'

'Trystan, you know that we are the masters of our own fate. You cannot deny him of his heritage, it is his birthright, his choices to make,' the man said in rebuke.

'Then he shall not have the choices,' Trystan snapped, then seemed to instantly regret his words. 'Look, I realise you mean well, but my decision is final. I am leaving Tregaron as of today, I cannot stay here it is too much of a reminder of what I have lost. I am taking my son to London, I have already relocated my business there, and at least there will be no more reminders of what should have been,' he said in an pained voice.

'That is not what she would have wanted, Trystan,' the man said.

'I no longer know what she would or would not have wanted. She is in God's hands now, not mine, and so help me, I would join her gladly if she asked it of me,' Trystan said and gazed up into the cloudless, blue sky.

'And leave your son an orphan?' the man said with a shake of his head. 'You would do him a huge disservice.'

Looking down at the small bundle in his arms Trystan's face softened. 'She loved you blindly you know. I suppose I would have been jealous if I didn't know she loved me just a tiny bit more. She thought of you as a father, never having known her own parents being she was orphaned at such a young age herself, oh how irony plays its ugly hand eh? You are right, though I am more the fool not to follow her, I could not do that to our son. But my decision still stands and nothing you can say will change my mind.'

'Do you hate us that much to deny the boy what he is?' the man asked curiously.

Trystan looked back down at the grave and sighed, shaking his head. 'No ... you know I do not. I married her knowing her what she was because I loved her so. Not even my own mother cared for me, but Sascha ... she believed in me when I did not believe in myself. She brought me hope where I had none. She is gone now, however, and not even your beliefs can bring her back, so what good are they to me now,' he said and turned to walk away.

The man stopped him by putting a comforting hand on Trystan's shoulder. 'Take care of yourself, Trystan, and take good care of the boy.'

Trystan nodded, although he didn't turn back round. 'In the future if should you happen into London feel free to stop in and say hello. In time I might even offer you a spot of tea ... but not yet. For now I ask you to stay away and let me do what I must do for what is left of my family. Good-bye, Albus, God go with you,' he said and walked away to a waiting limousine that whisked father and son off to a new life.

Albus Dumbledore watched them go with heaviness in his heart. He was usually a jovial, easy going man, but at the moment he felt more alone and at a loss than he ever had before. He got the distinct impression that something was very wrong with what had taken place; a death that should never have happened, and the start of a life that should have been going into a very different direction, but there was little he could do about any of it. Shaking his head sadly he walked over and looked down at the grave, so much on his mind.

'Was I wrong to let you go, Sascha? I never begrudged your decisions, I let you make them freely; perhaps this is where the fault lies. When you wanted to marry Trystan I agreed, even though he was a Muggle, I knew you loved him, but then I never could refuse you anything, could I. You were the daughter I could never have so I spoilt you, although I don't think I shall ever regret that,' he chuckled.

He reached down and picked up a handful of earth, slowly trickling it onto the coffin below. 'Rest well, dear child, I will miss you, especially now that I will not have your son to keep me company. One day though ... yes, I am sure that one day I shall see your Severus again ... but will it be too late I wonder ...'