Boredom sets in

Matt was at a complete loss at what he wanted to do. He had already made himself a snack. Then went for a run, and now he read a book. Why was his life more interesting when he was out causing trouble and getting in trouble?

Matt threw himself on the couch and just starred at the ceiling. He really needed a girl and not just one who wanted to make out with him even though that was a little fun.

Hell he just needed some friends.

Sacha had stood at the edge of the wards surrounding the property, head tilted to one side as he regarded the cabin in front of him. He had meant to apparate home, but clearly, this was not Rusnak Mansion. The man trapped as a teen frowned. Why was he..?

Oh. Oh, right. This was his cabin, wasn't it? He had had it built shortly after taking on the role of Highmaster at Durmstrang. He was Highmaster. Of a school. Highmaster Rusnak. And this was his cabin. Rusnak Cabin.

Of course he was and it was. How could he forget that, even temporarily?

Scrubbing a hand agitatedly through his hair, Sacha trudged across the meadow grass of the yard to the entrance to the abode. He opened the door and stepped inside, only to be faced with something else his gradually disappearing memories were slow to identify.

Who was the boy sitting on the sofa? This was his cabin, wasn't it? A glimpse of Ketty standing in the doorway to the kitchen confirmed this to him. Silently, the man regarded the teenager, a vaguely perplexed expression on his face.

Who..?

"Matvei," he said after a moment. It was a moment far too long.

Matt was not really paying attention until he heard the door open and he looked up and saw his father standing there. It looked like something was bothering him, almost like he was lost.

"Dad." Matt said as he got up off the couch and went over to him. "Dad, are you feeling ok?"

Ever since his father had turned into a teenager things had slowly be becoming different and it worried Matt a little. He was not use to seeing his father not be the strong man that always had everything under control.

"Can I help?"

Dad.

That word resonated with the man, it shook him. Dad. He called him dad. Sacha reached out a hand, almost hesitantly laying it against the side of the teen's face. He'd done that before, hadn't he? A casual, fond caress. He'd ruffled the boy's hair, wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He had counseled and taught and admonished the boy. The boy was... the boy was his son.

"Matthew," Sacha said. His eyes fell briefly shut, a pained expression flickering across his features. What person forgot their own child? "Matthew." He reopened his eyes to study the boy's face, almost desperately trying to fix it in his mind.

"No, I-" the man began the denial before abruptly breaking off. It wasn't fair to lie to the boy. He deserved to know. It affected him, after all - maybe more than it affected himself.

He turned away, drawing in a ragged breath. Both hands rose to tangle into the hair at his temples as he finally admitted, to himself as much as his son, "I'm forgetting things. Slowly and surely, the memories, the things that I knew since the last time I was... I was this -" he gestured a bit wildly to his current appearance - "they're all fading away. My mind is packing them away because they don't match up!" He kicked at the coffee table in frustration as a strangled noise escaped his throat.

"I can't make it stop," he mourned.