The Years of Riddle

Chapter Thirty-Six | Lewes, August 1966

Chapter Thirty-Six

Lewes, August 1966

The Lacroix kitchen was quiet, with Silas sat at the rickety old table, tea going cold in his hands. It was a drizzly day, the sort that just made you move more slowly. He had spent his time watching the rain, petting Babs' long fur, and contemplating his current decisions.

For one, which job offer was he to take? He didn't know, but it seemed everyone else had an opinion.

What was he to get Arthur and Molly for a house-warming present? Silas hadn't the slightest idea.

Who was going to look after Violet now that he was no longer at Hogwarts?

And lastly, when was he going to ask Anthony if he, Silas, was actually someone else's son?

This last decision was particularly daunting, as Silas did not want to stop being known, even in his own head, as Anthony's son. Blood was not everything, he knew that, as Anthony had raised him, loved him, taught Silas everything he knew about being a good man and person. Anthony was his father in every way Silas thought a father should be – except that he was almost positive he was someone else's biological child. Not son, no – a son was raised.

Anthony came into the kitchen as Silas was thinking, and smiled. There was a young man sitting in the same spot a little boy had once been, and it both hurt and made his heart swell with pride all at once.

"All right?" he asked, placing his mug in the sink. "Violet is in her own world, I tried telling her supper would be soon and she didn't even hear me. That girl and her drawing, huh?"

"Yeah." Silas couldn't look at Anthony; it made something in him go sour. It was bursting out of him, and suddenly he couldn't stand another second of not knowing. "Pa?"

"Hm?" Anthony was pulling food out of the fridge, but he turned to his son, a gentle expression settled on his face, older than Silas seemed to remember.

"You're not my – my biological father, are you?" Silas watched Anthony's face fall, his shoulders hunch – as if he'd been broken, so suddenly.

"Oh." He sighed, put the vegetables aside. "Sy, I..."

Silas begged Anthony with his eyes to be truthful. "Tell me, Pa. Please. It's eating me away."

With heartbreak in his eyes, Anthony nodded slowly. "No, Sy – I'm not."

Leaning forward, Silas let his head fall into his hands. Somehow, hearing it from his father's lips made it all the worse.

"Please look at me," Anthony kneeled by Silas, placed a hand on his shoulder. Silas went still beneath his touch. "I swear, you are my son – I raised you, I held you when you were born. Your Mamma and I, we brought you into this world. I have been there for everything, and the fact that – that you and I do not share blood does not mean that you are not my son, because you are." His voice broke on son, and Anthony's eyes became misty. "Sy?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Mamma didn't want you to feel unwanted, or unloved – she wanted you to feel whole."

"I have never felt whole," Silas mumbled. "I always felt out of place."

"Then I am truly sorry to have caused you any pain," Anthony still had his hand on Silas' shoulder, and he felt Silas begin to pull away. "This doesn't change that you are my son, I am your Papa, and we are a family. I have always loved you as you are, as my son – as my own."

Silas looked up then, shaking. "Who is my father?"

Anthony froze, and he shook his head. "I can't tell you that, Silas."