The Archaeologist and the Orphan

Following the death of his girlfriend in an explosion, a twenty- seven- year- old Professor Hershel Layton feels as if everything significant in his life has been ripped away from him. After loosing his parents to the same incident, ten- year- old Clive is orphaned and taken into care. Both Clive and Layton are left grieving, both of them yearn for a family to call their own. What happens when the professor visits the orphanage and adopts the forlorn boy? AU.

Chapter One

The bronze- haired boy bolted out of his sleep. He clawed at the itchy orange blanket that stank of stale wee no matter how many times it was washed. The offending cover removed, his brown eyes darted to the clock nailed against a wall with peeling Thomas the Tank Engine paper. 6:30. He sighed shakily and waited for his pounding pulse to settle.

Snores ensued from three corners of the room, alerting the boy that the other occupants had yet to rouse themselves. The satin blue curtains were still closed, casting the dorm into dimness, accented by the illumination from a star shaped nightlight beside the door. He could hear the punctual London morning traffic outside but there was presently no movement anywhere in the house. Mrs Medley's alarm clock had failed to go off, just as he'd planned...

It was now or never.

The boy crawled out from under the duvet- grabbing his navy green cap off the side drawers as he went- his shoes muffled by the beige carpet below. He hoisted a rucksack over his shoulder, having hidden it under the covers last night, and put his cap on before tiptoeing towards the door.

However, he'd only made it halfway across the room when he realized something vital was missing. Mum and Dad! He thought suddenly. How could I forget them? He scampered back to check beneath his mattress. It's not here! I'm sure I hid it under here...! Panic surged through him; he dropped the mattress on the bed frame with a clatter, waking one of his roommates.

...This just so happened to be his least favourite roommate.

"Going somewhere, Clive?" an obnoxious voice called.

Clive clenched his teeth and whirled to see a freckle-faced lad with short brown hair scowling at him from the bed closest to the door. Jamie Pratter— Clive's sworn nemesis since Day One at St Obeon's Orphanage.

Upon arriving at the orphanage, Mrs Medley had shown Clive to his new dorm and introduced him to the three other boys he would be sharing with: Reece, Tommy and Jamie (the evil Clive was unaware of at the time). But Clive didn't want to share; as an only child he'd never had siblings to share anything with before. Unaware this gripe had set off Clive's sour mood, Mrs Medley smiled and said she would let him settle in and get to know the others. The moment the matron had left the room, Jamie demanded tactlessly to the newbie:

"So, what are you in here for?"

Clive had only shrugged in reply and went over to the free bed— his bed now. He started unpacking his small bag of keepsakes (some of the few things they had been able to salvage from his old apartment) into the small bedside chest of draws.

"You can tell us. We won't care." Jamie waved a casual hand at Reece, a silent kid with black bangs blocking his eyes. "Reece's dad left him in the house on his own for a whole week once. And Tommy..." He pointed at the pudgy boy with curly blonde hair "His mum had quite the nasty temper— show him your scar, Tom!"

"I don't want to see his scar," Clive muttered, pulling an object from his rucksack. It was a slightly faded photograph in a plain brown rectangular frame. He tenderly stroked his thumb across two figures in the picture before placing the frame on top of the drawers where he could look at them every night.

Jamie persisted "Where are you from? Have you got any family?" When he was met with more silence, he approached Clive. "Come on, if we're going to be friends you might as well tell us a bit about yourself." Noticing the photo over Clive's shoulder, Jamie had then reached for the frame. "Are these your parents...?"

"DON'T TOUCH THEM!"

There was a pained yelp. Mrs Medley rushed back into the room. Jamie wailed that Clive had hit him for no apparent reason.

Now, Clive realized battering Jamie that day had been a big mistake. Not only had Mrs Medley been furious with him (Clive refused to explain why he had lashed out or to apologise) but he had also gained an enemy. In the months that followed, Jamie had made his stay at St Obeon's very unwelcome; ratting Clive out, stealing or breaking his few belongings, putting cheese sauce in his shoes...

Clive shifted, attempting to conceal his bag from the other boy's view. He retorted "It's none of your business where I'm going."

"But it's probably Mrs Medley's business..." said Jamie.

Clive's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Jamie smirked. He took a deep breath and shrieked; a warning signal that emanated through the two storey building, making Clive wince. "MRS MEDLEEEEY!"

Footsteps thundered across the landing and the door flew open. The doorway— and Clive's escape route— was filled with the plump form of Mrs Medley. The matron was a wrinkled middle aged woman who had always reminded Clive of a mother elephant. Mostly, she was gentle and doting and possessed an astonishing memory. But you did not want to get on the wrong side of her temper. (Plenty of times Clive had been sent to the Naughty Step after a scolding.)

"Good heavens, boys, is everything alright?" The bright ceiling light came on; Clive was like a deer caught in the headlights. Mrs Medley pushed her spectacles up her nose, her worried grey eyes checking the four children were safe. Jamie was sitting smugly up in bed, Tommy and Reece had just been jolted awake by the screaming, as for Clive...

"Clive's trying to run away again!" Jamie tattled instantly, pointing a bony finger at the accused. There was nothing Clive could really say against these claims, unless he usually wore his shoes, coat and rucksack to bed.

"Is that what all the commotion was about? Honestly, Jamie, I thought you were being attacked," Mrs Medley shook her head with a weary sigh. Clive's gaze fell to the floor as she looked at him questioningly. "May I please see that bag you're carrying, Clive?"

With the wordless guilt of a shop lifter, Clive tossed his pack of supplies over to her. Mrs Medley opened the rucksack and peered inside, frowning at its contents. "Did you take all of this food from the kitchen cupboard, Clive?" Technically only the pack of ginger biscuits came from the cupboard Clive thought shrewdly. The other snacks had been swiped from the table during meal times; slices of bread, fruit, cheese, crackers, crisps etc. By now they'd probably gone stale or started to rot.

Jamie chanted "Yes he did, yes he did."

"I didn't ask you, Jamie," Mrs Medley hushed him. The woman waited for Clive's explanation, but upon receiving none, she sighed in disappointment. "Tell me after breakfast," she said softly. She hoped Clive would be more communicative when the other children were out of earshot. On her way out of the room with the rucksack, Mrs Medley murmured knowingly "How strange, either my alarm clock has stopped working or the one in this room is fast."

Clive winced. Had she noticed he'd broken her clock yesterday evening? Even after all his careful preparation, he'd been caught out. Of course, he would've had to get past the locks on the front door, and he wouldn't have left until he'd found his parents, but still... It was all Jamie's fault.

When Mrs Medley had gone downstairs, Clive shot a glare at the snitch before resuming his frantic search.

"Looking for something?"

Clive glanced up from the drawers to see Jamie grinning at him like the Cheshire cat. In his hand was the photo of Clive's mother and father. Clive's eyes widened and he growled "Give it back!"

Recognising the signs that another argument was about to break out between the two, Tommy's fair head dived under the duvet cover. (He couldn't bear to watch!)

Jamie cooed "Awww, Clivey's missing his mummy and daddy."

"I mean it, Jamie!"

"You'll have to come and get it, Clivey— Hey!" Interrupting Jamie's taunts, Reece had quietly gotten out of bed and plucked the picture frame from his fingers.

The dark haired boy shuffled across the dorm and passed the photo to its rightful owner. "Here," Reece whispered. Clive snatched the photo without thanking Reece, hugging it tightly against his chest.

"I bet they don't miss you," Jamie was sneering at Clive now "Wherever they are. Maybe they're dead."

"At least he knew his parents," Reece muttered, just loud enough for Jamie to hear and cause his face to redden.

In some ways, Clive was jealous of Jamie (and secretly, Jamie envied him as well). A while ago, Tommy had informed him that Jamie had been on his own since he was born. Jamie had never met his parents; therefore he couldn't miss something that he'd never had.

Parents were meant to raise their children; love you come what may, protect you, and teach you the morals of life. But Clive didn't just need someone to raise him.

He needed to be saved.