The DiGandis

(Since I couldn't find the other house, if there even was one.)

Antonio DiGandi was sitting at the chair, shoulders shaking as he wept silently. His hands were on his lap, and his face was tilted down allowing tears to tumble gracefully from his eyes onto a faded photograph from over 20 years ago. There were four adolescent boys, each one seemingly given a separate colour (Each tie was either blue, red, yellow, or green). They ranged greatly in height, a tall partially Indian boy extensively tall while a shy blond stood shortest. In between was Antonio himself, proudness and joy glinting in his grey eyes, as he was unconsciously leaning away from another boy who was second tall, whose eyes squinting even more in laughter.

Yes, Antonio missed those days. It finally hit him how much he missed them. If only he didn't go crazy with fear, with want for power, with protecting his family, Fry would still be here today. If only. He let out a small sob, and coughed a bit to hide it, even though he was alone. The picture moved, all boys laughing and swaying in the bright sunlight which seemed to gleam off Hogwarts castle in the background. It made the whole effect even worse for Antonio, seeing so much life in the younger him and his friends, his greatest friends, who he lost so easily all thanks to him.

Yeah, he regretted it. He did from the moment he saw Fry sprawled on the ground, heart-stoppingly still that he regretted it. He remembered it all so clearly, from the anger and jealousy pulsing in his veins to when through his blinding rage he saw Fry push Holly and be engulfed in the ferocious crowd, curses being shot without care, to when the crowd cleared and there what he saw made his heart be twisted and ripped out of his body. Yeah, he felt that feeling again, just then.

And so, he sat there, in the dark sanctuary of his room, tears repeatedly swimming in his eyes before falling down from him, drowning in regret and shame.

[when did they take that pic]

Helen was coming out of the kitchen, while wearing one of those cheesy 'Kiss The Cook' aprons. Yes, she had no magical powers, being a 'Muggle' as her husband called her. But, she had enough power to listen and talk with her husband, and attempt to understand what had happen to him in his dark teenage years.

"Dinner's ready, Tony-Oh." She quietly leaned over the top of the chair, and studied the photograph of the four boys laughing, and the tears sliding down her husband's cheeks. She placed a gentle a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it tight.

"These were your friends?" she asked, in a whisper.

[[3rd or 4th year? Around the time Jake came into the picture.]]

He nodded slowly. Helen knew everything about what happened. He had admitted it one night, in fact the night they first made love. He just talked it all out. Of course, despite the two being incredibly close, he never came around to showing her the pictures. Especially when he never came around to even digging them out. "They really were the best of friends," he said softly, and touched the picture with his thumb gently.

"Hmm..." Helen looked at the four boys carefully. They were all differently as they could possibly be, but yet, they seemed to be the best of friends. It was odd how people drifted so far away from each other.

"You were so handsome, even then.. is that Fry, that darker one?-He's just like you described him, always laughing! And, the blonde haired must be Eric... he must have loved hanging out with you two... and I guess the black haired one is Jake. He really does seem like the clown of all of you."

Helen continued to stare at the picture, and she grew somber.

"You don't really quite have friends like you did in your schooldays, huh?"

Antonio sighed. His heart ached to see his old friends. But, how they must hate him. "No matter what I would do to see them again, Fry helped me open my eyes. If it weren't for him, I'd probably still be the same way I was before.. And if it weren't for him, I'd never have met you. But, there's still that deep regret. I just wish I didn't loose these friends. Oh, Helen, just imagine what they must think about me," he said, groaning, and putting his head in his hands.

"I think people are more forgiving than you may think," Helen said firmly, as she stroked a piece of Antonio's dark hair. "Have you ever at least tried to contact them? Not even one of those letters you send?"

Antonio sighed. He looked up at his wife. His beautiful, understanding, accepting wife. Unconsciously, he lifted his hand up on her shoulder with such gentleness, a touch of attraction, and stood up. His hand slid down to her arm, which he held and pulled her into a weak hug, as though he were leaning against her. "I'm scared," he whispered.

"Scared! You, scared?!" Helen pulled away, staring at her husband with an indignant look on her face. She crossed her arms together, and she continued to scare him down.

"Antonio, you really surprise me, sometimes! When you go out, performer on West End, singing and dancing your little heart out, knowing you could make a mistake in front of thousands of judgmental and paying audience members, you don't feel scared! To me, that sounds so much more terrifying than writing a simple letters." She lectured.

[ugh oh my god diabetes <3]

"You don't know those people. You'll probably never see those people. These are what used to be friends, and now... oh, Helen, can you help me write the letter?" he looked more like 10 years younger then.

Helen began smiling at him. Antonio always looked so youthful, when he was happy, like the day when she had first met him. She gave him another tight hug, before answering his question.

"Of course I will! We can start anytime you like!"

He sighed in relief. "That's great! How about now?"

Helen shrugged, and she climbed off of him. "Sure, if you want to. Who are you going to write to, first?"