Father sounded long-suffering, to be sure (as he often did, talking to Philip) but why did he sound so – defeated? Where was the argument, where was the lecture, where was the punishment? Why did he sound relieved, when nothing was yet resolved?
Philip’s face had just enough time to crease when his father took up his wand and pointed at him. Was he going to hex Philip half to deafness now, an ear for an ear –?
No. If Philip heard the incantation, he did not register it, because there was a feeling so intense he felt like he was flying. Like he had just been lifted out of his seat by a wave of relief: like all his problems had been swept away in the flood, and left him clean and unworried and new. Philip was – calm, and happy, and he wasn’t sure he knew what worry felt like at all, now.
He wasn’t angry anymore. He did feel sorry, and tried his best to swallow it, to digest this: he had done something wrong. He couldn’t believe he had done it, now. He had been a fool to fight Robin, a fool to do or think whatever he had, before. Philip knew this, because he felt imbued with the new blessing of his father’s forgiveness. Father had given him a second chance.
Unconsciously, he had straightened in his chair, all the tension scrubbed out of his limbs, head and shoulders and hands. His hands were on his lap now, contentedly. His eyes hadn’t left his father, save to blink against the light, but his expression now was a placid one. He felt as if he were smiling inside, like the world around him had brightened. This was fine. Everything was fine.
And Philip sat, just – waiting. Just sitting and waiting and being, entirely at peace with the world.
Philip’s face had just enough time to crease when his father took up his wand and pointed at him. Was he going to hex Philip half to deafness now, an ear for an ear –?
No. If Philip heard the incantation, he did not register it, because there was a feeling so intense he felt like he was flying. Like he had just been lifted out of his seat by a wave of relief: like all his problems had been swept away in the flood, and left him clean and unworried and new. Philip was – calm, and happy, and he wasn’t sure he knew what worry felt like at all, now.
He wasn’t angry anymore. He did feel sorry, and tried his best to swallow it, to digest this: he had done something wrong. He couldn’t believe he had done it, now. He had been a fool to fight Robin, a fool to do or think whatever he had, before. Philip knew this, because he felt imbued with the new blessing of his father’s forgiveness. Father had given him a second chance.
Unconsciously, he had straightened in his chair, all the tension scrubbed out of his limbs, head and shoulders and hands. His hands were on his lap now, contentedly. His eyes hadn’t left his father, save to blink against the light, but his expression now was a placid one. He felt as if he were smiling inside, like the world around him had brightened. This was fine. Everything was fine.
And Philip sat, just – waiting. Just sitting and waiting and being, entirely at peace with the world.
