.

“yes—” bellatrix didn’t look up from the newspaper that she was reading, having sensed a presence nearby. a moment or two later, she set it aside and looked around for a moment before smiling politely. “is there something that you need?”

         Archibald raised his hands at the sharp tone in caradoc’s voice. “whoa, i didn’t mean to make you feel worse; quite the opposite. i just figured… poems, like songs, are expressions of feelings and through them we want to tell stories. everything, in a sense, is a story. whether fiction or reality. i am not good with just poetry, but i consider some of my songs to be so… i know a little about like, creative proces and stuff.” he said, lowering his hands. “but if you want to sit here all depressed and stuff, that’s alright. i won’t stop you…” he told him and sighed. “daisy and i were also pretty serious, you know, and we struggled too in the beginning… and maybe friends isn’t where you’ll end up but like, things have a way of sorting themself out. whatever that may be.” he said, meaning every word. “and again, sorry if i made you feel bad. not my intention.”

        A heavy sigh left Caradocs chest as Archibald raised his hands in defense. “Everything is just making me feel worse right now many, it’s not you. I’m fine. I will be fine. I’ll smoke a joint and listen to some classics and be fine.” It sounded bitter on his tongue, fine fine fine I am fine. Because while Caradoc was fine, he didn’t want to be. A large part of him didn’t want to get over Wendy, and as soon as the grieving process was over then what? It was completely over with her. This pain was the last thing he had to hold on to. “That’s really groovy dude. Glad you were able to move past your ex.”

“I mean, at least you’re honest? But, you know, do you really wanna share that with just ‘bout anyone, though? Like, that poem seems like something to just share with her? Or maybe with some friends, or something.”

“What am I supposed to do, ignore you?,” she asked. Maybe she should — just pretend he wasn’t there, avoid him, try to not glance at him. “We could be friends. I want that — I said that, even.” She pushed her lips together. This wasn’t about her.

         Archibald raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “dude, if you want to have this story like, grow and stuff do what i do. take some distance, do something that’ll inspire you like nature walks, music, dancing… you know, free your mind, man.” he told him, not sure that sulking and being all serious would help him one bit. “and of course i know wendy but like… daisy is my ex and we are great friends now. it just takes some time, again… distance, man. breathing, relaxing. you need that.” he remarked, not sure if he did or not but well, who didn’t enjoy a good time? exactly. everyone, he thought.

A huge part of Caradoc fought to keep from yelling out YOU DON’T GET IT but instead he kept his lips relaxed. “This is not a story, Archibald. This s a poem, an expression of ones grief and emotional process. How exactly is one to grow if they suppress the darkness of ones mind? That is not balance, and I did not ask for your advice.” He added sharply, not realizing the effect of his words could hurt the feelings of someone just trying to help. “Besides, you and Daisy were not Wendy and I. Just because you two can be friends, does not mean that we can.”

Knowing he was in pain tugged at Daisy’s heart strings. She wanted nothing more than to cheer him up. “I love your writing, Car bear, but that sounds like it would make me cry.”

"It might, who knows.” He murmured in reply, knowing that Daisy only meant well. It was the only thing keeping a sharp remark from leaving his lips. “I’m fine though, Hookums. I’m good. Really.”

“Oh, yeah, sure? It sounds promising.” Alice was quiet for a second, looking at Caradoc. “Is it about a certain someone?”

“Sounds a bit depressing, really,” she murmured, NOT at all sure what to say. She knew she had hurt Doc, and badly, too, but to see- it so clearly was something Wendy was not really ready for. She wasn’t sure if she ever would be. “But go on, if you want to.”

archibald sat down next to caradoc and looked at the paper. “i mean, i don’t ever write anything other than songs but like… i mean… songs need pacing, rhythm… if you want, i can try to help.” he said, looking back up at the other guy. “also, that other story, sounds kind of dark, man.”

Caradoc raised an eyebrow to the boy. “It doesn’t need help really, just time.” He noted in a monotone lull. “Dark.” Dark was the night he spent outside Wendy’s window, throwing pebbles and pleading. That’s one I need to remember-- pebbles and pleading. “Have you met my fuckin’ ex man? I’m sure you have.” He murmured, nearly positive that he did. Everyone knew CaradocandWendy.

                                               HISTORY

Caradoc Dearborn is a single child, who has grown up along the edge of the Lestrange grounds. Having never met his father it’s always just been him and his mother against the world. 

His mother is the Lestrange’s gardener, but Caradoc had always been aware they were not friends. The oldest boy Rodolphus had made it quite clear from the beginning that a friendship would never happen, and their father Romulus struck the fear of God into him.

Due to the only picture Caradoc had ever seen of his father, an obsession with cars blossomed from a young age. The man was leaning against a classic Monte Carlo, and the image has never left his sons mind.

Also due to the fact he was not able to engage in his muggle interests Caradoc spends much of his time reading as much as he can about cars and how to work on them.

Caradoc feels genuinely blessed for the things he’s most talented with: poetry and Quidditch. Either would be an acceptable suit to follow after graduation, although he knows being captain of the Ravenclaw team for his last year gives him better lead way with the latter option.