EXCUSE

It was cold enough that the precipitation falling from the sky had crystallized and was floating down in tiny flakes of pure white which landed on everything and yet did not stick The flakes of rain dust had settled sweetly on the ends of noses, on the tips of fingers, on hot tongues and eyelashes. If it weren't for the snow--their morning would have been absolutely miserable. But as the world was swirling with white, the aggravation of their usual bustling was made peaceful--their pace had slowed considerably.

They stopped in Diagon Alley that morning to pick up a take-away breakfast for Alexander, who was fussing at her side, a ball of light-haired, furious inconvenience. He was five and full of energy, and yet, sick as a dog. So sick, in fact, that they were on their way to their monthly meeting at St. Mungo's with his pediatrician. It was too much for a single mother who refused to accept help from anyone. And yet, on that morning, it was all she could do to keep from screaming.

As he danced around in the snow, whirling and shouting and kicking up piles of it to playfully enjoy the weather, Alice remembered that her brother used to be similar, in a way. He had enjoyed life. Perhaps not quite so fully as her son--but it had been there. She knew why she had stopped. Even so, his presence in her life had changed her in so many ways and the small smile that never reached her eyes had tried that day as he spun in circles until he was so dizzy that he fell flat on his butt and looked around, dizzily, to find who had had the audacity to push him.

"Up you go," she offered quietly, her voice lacking any cheer as she watched the blood drain from his face. It was an odd disorder. His reason for visiting the healers every month. She reached into the take-away bag for a package of apple slices that she opened and then pressed into his hands. He started to eat with his mittens still on and while this was amusing, it was also terribly impractical. It frustrated her.

She started to say something, but he was suddenly looking off, not paying the least bit of attention to her as a group of rowdy men scrambled into the street, laughing and joking around with each other. "Mum!" he whispered excitedly, ignoring the apples altogether. "Mum! That's the Canadian quidditch player!!"

Her son, like his father, was interested in a great many things. And like her family--quidditch was always one of them.

Riley Bexton, as she had known him in her seventh year of school, had been on of the few Canadian quidditch players to rise to stardom. And he was rarely without a fan base or a group of friends. Among them, this time, were his usual entourage.

It was her face that turned white.

"Up!" she whispered fiercely, ignoring the mittens and the apples as she tried to scramble her way out of the street and back on their usual route. Except he had no reservations as he dashed away from her and toward the men where he held out his red pair of mittens and the apple slice in his right hand, his eyes wide as he stared up at the professional sports players. "Sign something for me, please?!"

If only the Please! could save them, she thought, impossibly frustrated.

Bexton gave a broad grin as he popped down to his knees, taking the mittens from the boy to sign carefully, holding up a delightful conversation with him as another man in the mix caught her eye. It took only a moment for him to cross the distance. "Connolly," he offered, almost quietly, as the time between their last meeting had been long enough for them to both be in quite separate walks of life.

"Poliakoff," she greeted civilly.

Their conversation was light, full of holes, drifting off toward answers and drifting back toward questions. Alice led him on a well-rounded chase for the truth that he would never get. Alexander was herded back over to her by the Bextons who greeted her kindly and then let Vlad know they would meet him in the diner for breakfast. He nodded, showing he had heard, before turning back to pay attention to the pair in front of him. He wanted to ask her to join them. He didn't think the kid would mind.

"Mum!"

The word shot through him like a bullet of ice, freezing everything inside of him. The kid must've said it three more times, because he could literally feel it each time, a puncturing--a change.

"You're a mother?" he asked quietly.

Alice's eyes widened a little, fear shooting across her features. "Alexander, it's time to go!" she warned the boy who had doggedly made his way back to the street to chase the snowflakes like a kitten with butterflies.

"Watch me, mum!"

She started to leave, but Vlad's hand was gripping her arm and she was forced to look back up into his face, her eyes avoiding his gaze, her excuses quick on her lips. But all she could mutter was "He has your eyes," before she pulled out of his grasp, collected her son, and made a hasty escape to St. Mungo's.