The Black Hole Speaks || EZIO

Ceasare D'orolione Father of Ezio D'orolione; Portrayed by Allison

Last night he dreamed of Tiberius again. The same dream as always. In it, Tiberius was five years old. Unlike most dreams, this particular was neither confusing nor hazy in experience. In fact, it was quite visceral, and stayed with him long after he awoke. Like a fingerprint. It was a summer afternoon. The sun hung overhead and the sky was crisp and clear. It was just Tiberius and himself, the two of them seated on a grassy hillock overlooking the D'orolione estate. Tiberius sidled close to his father, honey brown hair catching the sunlight in a way that was beyond description. Ceasare looked down at his first and only son, a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips. He knew that his son's hair would darken with age and eventually would begin to resemble his own. That was the thing Ceasare was most looking forward to about fatherhood: watching his son become a strong, honorable man. Ceasare then ran his hand through Tiberius' hair, dark eyes fixed on the horizon before them. He knew he could sit there forever and never tire. Time had no meaning in this Edenic place. If only it still existed. Suddenly then, a blinding white light enveloped the entire scenery around them. Everything faded out. And then Ceasare would wake up with a start, chest heaving, sweat trailing down his brow. Even when it had all ended, when his head was clear and his eyes adjusted to the light, he couldn't decide if it had just been a dream or a memory.

Ceasare was thinking about this dream as the thestral-drawn carriage brought him closer and closer to the Hogwarts castle, the school of his youth. His gaze lingered on the imposing castle, his expression blank. Any other parent would have been thinking about the qualitiy of the education at this school, the lessons given by the professors, the merits of the food, the cleanliness, the sports teams, and so on, so forth. That was the whole point of Familia Visitandum anyway, right? To bribe rich parents into giving donations whilst listening to their list of grievances point-by-point. The haggard Italian wasn't especially preoccupied with any of these concerns, however. When he arrived, he would certainly give that il figlio of his a stern talking to. Remind him where his attentions should lie: In school and hard-work, not on girls, and friends, and other rubbish that would end up being a distraction. Until then though, his thoughts were on Tiberius and nothing else. Tiberius.

He distinctly remembered Parent's Weekend when Tiberius had attended Hogwarts, as well. Back then, Ceasare had actually looked forward to the event. It had given him no greater pleasure than to meet with his professors, make sure his son was still excelling in all of his classes like a good D'orolione. The two of them would go into Hogsmeade together, share a pint of Butterbear at Hog's Head, laugh over silly, inconsequential things that he couldn't even remember now. He remembered walking along the edge of the Black Lake with Tiberius, watching the pink and gold of sunset fade into the blue and purple of night. They pointed out the constellations together, and they'd even seen a comet shoot across the sky. Ceasare's mouth set into a firm, thin line at the memory. It felt like a thousand years ago. As if it had been someone else's life.

Heaving a deep sigh, Ceasare could only pray that this particular weekend would be over before he knew it. The only reason he had come here in the first place was due to Ezio's childish stupidity. Ceasare and Ezio did not keep in close contact throughout the school year. But when Ceasare did take it upon himself to send an owl his son's way, he damn well expected a prompt response. When he failed to receive a letter in return, a fury had exploded inside of him. How dare that intolerable child ignore him? The house elf insisted that it was probably just a mistake of some kind – which resulted in a good slap on the impertinent elf's part – but Ceasare was resolute in his judgment. Sometimes it seemd to Ceasare as if there was no point in having a second son if he was to be this useless. Sometimes he wished he was left childless.

The carriage came to a halt, stopping abruptly in front of the giant doors. The trip had been shorter than he'd expected. Smoothing out his suit, Ceasare cleared his throat and stepped down onto the stone steps. When he arrived at the Great Hall, he was not surprised to see it was in a hustle and bustle. Students were milling back and forth, insistent parents badgering them for even the most mundane details about their school-life. Ceasare regarded the whole scene with a furrowed brow and surly frown. How he detested these sorts of events. The sooner he could escape from all this the better. The sooner he could go back home and pretend all of this didn't even exist. Hands folded behind his back, his eyes searched the room for Ezio. He spotted him at the Ravenclaw table. Slowly and deliberately, Ceasare stode toward him. He hovered over his son domineeringly. And then he stated curt and sarcastically, “Are you always this polite when met with your superiors?” Then the silence and distance rose between them, like a dead fish on the water.