Ravenclaw

Chapter 68- Fatherhood

Song for the chapter: Dusk Till Dawn by Zayn Featuring Sia

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     Helga scrapped the letter on her desk, throwing it into the metal bin near the bookshelf, where a pile of wasted parchment lay, overflowing and spilling onto the floor.
     Helga, frustrated, buried her head in her hands. What could she do? She certainly wasn't going to tell Percival— he'd be devastated to know that even after three months, it was still Salazar's name that triggered the word out of her child... their child...
     She considered telling Rowena, but that seemed like betrayal. She definitely wanted Salazar to be the first to know, but as she wrote yet another failed letter, she couldn't seem to form the words she wanted, needed to say...
     Helga looked out of the window. It was such a beautiful day, birds singing, the wind blowing lightly, ruffling the leaves on the trees, making them sway lightly. The sun was shining brightly against the light blue sky, making her wish that she wasn't cooped up in her office...
     Unconsciously, she grabbed her quill, and her hand started to write as she thought, thought very, very hard, about what she wanted, what she would do, what she needed...

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Dear Salazar,

I know that I am the last person you would like to hear from, but I have some very important news to tell you, it simply would be unfair if you knew not of this development.

But if you even receive this letter, I hope that at the sight of my name, at the sight of my writing, you wouldn't turn up your nose. As for your mother, well, I hope for the best, hope that she wouldn't discard of this.

I am unsure of how to even start this, how to express my joy, but I suppose this will do.

Salazar, your daughter called you.

I have no idea of what could have triggered her to call for you, to long for your presence. It has been two, very long months since there birth, and you haven't been present in their lives very often to make such an impact on children so young. And yet, despite Percival's hovering presence with them on a constant basis, they have never once responded to him as their father.

So I beg of you, Salazar, to come home. Come back to where your real family awaits you, where we await you, where I wait for you.

Salazar, I know how you feel. I know how you've kept your fair share of secrets, and how I've got mine. You've done things you're not proud of, you've hidden numerous things from us, from me, but after all those things, you've really come through for us, you've really come through for me.

Salazar, I wait for your reply. And when you come back, I'll still be waiting, arms open wide, wanting for you to feel that warmth and love we could share as possible friends. Because Salazar, my love, you are the father of the children, bearer of my love, my everything, and I am filled with forgiveness, waiting, always waiting, for your hopeful return.

Love,
Helga H. W.

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     Salazar rolled the piece of parchment back up, glad that Maria had decided to pick strawberries in the back lawn and that his mother decided to pester somebody else with her presence.
Tying the faded, old paper back up with string, Salazar got up and walked over to his balcony, staring down at the Muggles below once more. It was his mother's idea he came back during the period before term started— she had a master plan she wanted to execute, but first needed to know the details of the castle, the lessons, the students.
Salazar himself had grown up thinking that there was only kind of students that deserved proper schooling, but as he met Helga, and became friends with those of different perspectives, good perspectives, his mindset had changed.
It wasn't fair to deny those of magical talent the proper education that they deserve. If they could do magic as good as the pure-bloods, then why should they be shunned against the will of society? Muggle-borns are as good wizards as him, as Helga's family had proved that. There was certainly nothing wrong with those of "tainted" blood.
Yet the outburst of his mother still haunted him, and will haunt him for the rest of his days. The extreme fury she felt when she had received news of a half-blood bearing the child of her son couldn't drive her more mad than she already was. Her insane mission to rid of all dirty-blood had been ruined the day her son fell in love with a girl whose bloodline she loathed.
But has it? There was still time to change, there is always time to change. Just like how Flaura and Ophichus decided to change despite their wrongdoings, they had been forgiven. And it wasn't out of foolishness; it was because they had known love, and decided to repent.
The amount of times, he thought, the amount of times he could've changed were countless— Helga was always there, waiting, filled with forgiveness, with open arms, ready to welcome him back into her love. Even until now, she still waited, with children and another husband, she waited for him, ready to risk herself to help him change his mind.
Yet there he stood, on the marble balcony, at his father's old mansion, fixed on the spot, gazed trained on the Muggles, unable to move. Was this another one of those times where he should've changed, should've run back to her?
Helga asked for one thing in return, and that was a reply. So Salazar went back to his beautiful carved, wooden desk, dipped his eagle-feather quill into the bottle of ink and began to write, his quill scratching on the old piece of parchment.