"Ho ho! Look what I brought back, you two!"
Grandpa Dawson appeared in front of Annabelle and Richie, carrying a massive, heavily panting white sheep tucked under his arm.
It was exactly 5:00 PM, and the winter sky had already fallen pitch black. The two of them had just been about to head inside to start preparing dinner.
"Whoa, Dad, where the hell did you manage to get a Tundra Sheep?" Annabelle asked, stepping closer to inspect it.
She reached out, fully intending to poke the sheep's cheek. Instead, the sheep twitched its jaw, gathered a massive wad of spit, and fired it with sniper-like precision, hitting Annabelle dead in the face.
"Ahhhh! You little rat! I'm going to butcher you!"
Annabelle completely lost her mind and lunged at the sheep—or rather, lunged at her dad holding it. Dawson just chuckled and casually cast a localized Shield Charm, completely blocking her frantic attacks.
"I got this little guy from an old buddy of mine," Dawson said smoothly. "How about we have a roast whole sheep for dinner tonight?"
Hearing that, Richie's eyes instantly lit up.
Roast whole sheep? That sounded amazing.
At Dawson's suggestion, Richie and Annabelle scrapped their plans to go inside and instead joined him on the lawn for an impromptu outdoor barbecue.
This was exactly where the absolute convenience of magic shined.
Standing in the center of the yard, Grandpa Dawson raised his wand, moving it like a seasoned orchestra conductor.
The Tundra Sheep floated into the air. In a matter of seconds, its thick coat of wool flawlessly shed itself, peeling off like a winter coat. Immediately after, a clean incision opened up along its belly.
Simultaneously, dozens of logs flew over from the edge of the property, hopping and bouncing across the grass until they formed a perfect circular fire pit right beneath the floating sheep.
"Uh..."
Watching the whole process, Richie unconsciously leaned backward, his brow furrowing deeply.
If you knew it was magic, it was just highly efficient butchering. But if you didn't know? It looked exactly like a violently demonic sacrificial ritual.
Beside him, Annabelle didn't miss a beat. She drew her wand and pointed it at the wood.
"Incendio!"
A ball of flame shot out, instantly igniting the logs. As the wood caught fire, several pieces of firewood transfigured themselves, extending and locking together to form a sturdy roasting spit.
Seeing the setup complete, Dawson seamlessly levitated the fully prepped Tundra Sheep and skewered it straight onto the spit.
"Perfect. Now all we have to do is wait."
He cast an automated rotation charm on the spit and motioned for the two of them to come closer.
"Come on. Grab a seat by the fire and warm up."
Richie didn't hesitate. He walked over and sat down on the grass, instantly feeling a wave of intense, comforting heat wash over him.
Dawson patted the dirt off his pants and sat down right next to Richie. Annabelle followed suit, taking a seat on Richie's other side.
Above them, the thick clouds finally broke, revealing a sky packed with brilliant stars.
The preparation process might have looked somewhat horrific, but the smell? Absolutely heavenly.
It didn't take long for the sheep to start sizzling, dripping fat into the flames and releasing a mouthwatering, rich aroma of roasting meat that rapidly filled the air.
Richie stared at the rotating sheep, swallowing hard.
"So, little Richie, how are you liking these past few days?" Dawson asked casually, keeping an eye on the roasting meat to make sure it cooked evenly.
"It's been pretty great," Richie answered without taking his eyes off the sheep.
He meant it. Over the last two days, he had witnessed an underground wizarding auction, toured Beauxbatons Academy, read the original manuscript of Nicolas Flamel, and spent an entire day completely unwinding in a magically heated spring meadow.
It had been incredibly enriching, yet completely relaxing.
"Just 'pretty great'?" Annabelle scoffed from his other side, sounding incredibly smug. "I took him to Beauxbatons yesterday, and he ended up taking five official dueling challenges. Swept all five of them."
She puffed her chest out like she was the one who had won the duels.
"Oh? Is that so?" Dawson raised an eyebrow, nodding with deep satisfaction. "Looks like little Richie has a real talent for dueling."
After saying that, he fell silent. For a long moment, the only sound on the lawn was the crackling of the burning firewood.
Richie could tell Dawson had something else on his mind, so he patiently waited for him to speak.
Finally, Dawson broke the silence.
"How is your mother doing?"
Richie blinked. "She's doing well. Or at least, she seems perfectly fine to me."
Dawson paused, clearly trying to find the right words. He asked his next question with careful hesitation.
"Has your mother ever mentioned me?"
"What exactly does she say about me?"
Richie tilted his head, looking at the man whose thick beard was visibly twitching with nerves. He thought about it for a second before answering honestly.
"Uh... yes."
"She actually took me to see your gravestone once. You looked pretty young in the photo she put on it."
"As for what she actually said about you... trust me, you definitely don't want to know."
Dawson froze. The automated rotation charm on the spit stuttered, causing the sheep to pause mid-turn.
"My... gravestone?"
"Pfft."
Seeing Dawson's completely stunned expression, Annabelle couldn't hold it back and burst out laughing.
"Elena actually had a custom gravestone made for you in the Muggle world," Annabelle chimed in, gleefully adding context. "Every single year, she drags Richie and her husband out there to 'visit your grave' and clean it up."
Dawson's mouth twitched violently.
"That girl..."
"Well, whose fault is that? You haven't sent her a single letter in years!" Annabelle snapped, instantly taking her sister's side.
But as she spoke, her eyes lit up with a sudden, brilliant idea.
"Hey, why don't you come back to England with us for the rest of the holidays and see Elena yourself?"
"You could finally sit down, actually apologize to her, and try to make things right."
"Plus, you could finally meet your Muggle son-in-law!"
Annabelle got more and more hyped as she spoke, but Dawson gave absolutely zero reaction. He just sat there, staring blankly into the fire.
"Dad! Say something!" Annabelle huffed, getting visibly annoyed by his silence.
Seeing the tension, Richie also looked at Dawson, genuinely curious about what his grandfather's answer would be.
Dawson coughed awkwardly, his eyes shifting away from them.
"I, uh... I really can't leave this place right now."
"When things clear up and I get a chance, I'll definitely go see her."
"What do you mean 'when you get a chance'?!" Annabelle exploded, throwing her hands on her hips. "You literally spend all day at the beach rubbing oil on young witches! You're telling me you can't carve out a few days to see your own daughter?!"
"The wizarding world has been completely stable for years! Traveling internationally is incredibly easy now..."
Annabelle aggressively tore into him, laying out all his excuses. Dawson just sat there, entirely silent, taking the verbal beating without a word.
Caught right in the middle, Richie felt completely helpless.
With an adult's soul, he could actually see both sides of the situation.
He didn't know what kind of massive, unspoken secrets Dawson was hiding that kept him here, but it was obvious the man still loved his daughter. He had literally just offered his entire fortune and family legacy to Richie the night they met. That kind of immediate, overwhelming generosity proved he still cared deeply for Elena—he was just projecting that love onto her son.
But on the flip side? Going years without sending a single letter was objectively terrible parenting. As a father, he had heavily failed.
While dissecting the situation, Richie couldn't shake the sudden feeling that something was deeply, fundamentally wrong. A weird sense of dissonance hit him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was.
Before he could figure it out, the Tundra Sheep finished roasting.
Desperate to change the subject, Dawson frantically ripped the two massive hind legs off the spit. He shoved one into Richie's hands and practically jammed the other one into Annabelle's, clearly trying to bribe her into silence.
It worked flawlessly.
"Ugh, I'm too tired to keep yelling at you!" Annabelle glared at him one last time before aggressively tearing into the meat, wincing and blowing as the piping hot lamb burned her fingers.
The argument was over. It was time to eat.
Richie took a massive bite out of his own leg of lamb.
Wow.
There wasn't a single spice or seasoning on it, but it was incredible. The skin was perfectly crispy and charred, while the meat inside was incredibly tender and packed with rich, savory juices.
It was absolutely delicious.
After that first bite, Richie's appetite totally completely took over, and he aggressively started devouring the meat.
Watching the two of them bury their faces in their food, Dawson let out a long, quiet sigh.
He looked up at the sky.
The stars and the moon were still shining, exactly as they always had.