Oh, and just one other thing...

Give her a second. A quick breath in that brought in oxygen and thought, followed by the exhale, the expulsion of frustrations and worries out. She was fine. This was Jack watching out for a friend. She had always been one to go to great lengths for those she cared for, for her friends. Had she not practically thrown herself in front of the Loch Ness Monster for Chase and Andrew? And they were barely acquainted when that had happened. Surely, this was no different.

She looked about the room, suddenly curious. Houses often told everything about a person, or nothing. There was rarely an in-between. Either the place you lived in was a complete reflection of who you were, or it was a carefully arranged atmosphere, organized to present the image farthest from what you were, more akin to what you wanted to be. Jack always found herself curious to view the stuff people accumulated in their living space.

He agreed to the coffee and suggested he make breakfast to. "Wonderful. Sunny can do with fruit loops, but Coach has us on this protein diet, so no sugary cereal in the morning anymore." She sighed and sat down at the table, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. She looked about, before suddenly becoming very aware of the fact that her friend was without a shirt. Typically, she had no qualms about looking at people when they were exposed - she was curious to know what sort of shape people kept themselves in. But that felt... strange, with Albus.

It seemed he was thinking along the same lines, because he was suddenly asking for his shirt. "Uhhh... Right. Yeah. I got it." She stood and followed his instructions, moving down the hallway until she found the stool with the shirt strewn across it. She picked it up and returned, throwing the shirt at him. "There you go." She sat back down.

He slid his hands into the sleeves, buttoning the shirt up, and somehow felt inexorably relieved. Now to breakfast.

It took exactly fifteen minutes for him to get the salad done. Which was weird, since he usually prepared it in less than five. He just wanted to get the flavours right of course.....not delay facing Jack or anything like that. Tossing healthy heapfuls on both plates -ceramic of course- he started walking to the dining area, coffee mugs, one steaming hot, one icy cold, levitating behind his head.

This was a splendid time to realise that this was the first time Jack had set foot into his flat. So naturally his eyes flit in all directions to make sure everything was in its proper place. He wasn't OCD....just extremely well-organised for a single male. Being brought up in a 'pureblood' House tended to do that to you, rich heirs weren't flattered when your shaving scream was spilled all over the communal sink, or your socks hanging by the posters of their beds. Thus Albus had the only sane spot in the roomfuls of Weasley-Potter filth in their old home, and he had carried that forwards into his new house.

Outfitted in chocolate and beige, comforting neutral colours, Albus catalogued nothing but differences in Jack's, and his living space. His flat was peaceful, relatively clean, hardly any knick-knacks except for in his bedroom...and now that he thought about it, a bit impersonal. Like a hotel room designed to invite you in, but you could never build a home there. His eyes zoomed around for anything untoward...and fell on...

Crap. The guitar.

It was okay. Jack was sitting with her back faced to the wall against which the instrument was propped. Albus set one plate before Jack a bit hastily, and sat down in the chair opposite to hers, cold coffee mug clunking into place beside his plate. "Bon appetit. Be warned though, I inherited my father's cooking skills." A faint smile conveniently slid into place on his face, the light-hearted words a marked contrast to the intensity of some time ago. "Once you take one bite, you're never going to want to leave."

Albus blinked after that, he wasn't quite sure why. He looked down at his plate, and placed a delicate spoonful inside his mouth.

He was taking forever to make the breakfast, and Jack had no qualms about getting comfortable. She put her arms on the table and rested her chin atop her forearm. He now had a shirt on his back, so her eyes were to wander about as she pleased. She was tired, now that she thought of it - and naturally, for she had not slept through the night and she had worked herself into a bit of a frenzy early this morning with this whole Katrina-Carlotta business.

With tired eyes she surveyed the kitchen of her friend, a little disappointed with how spotless and orderly it was. But it seemed to fit Albus. James could be a right pig at times, so it seemed natural that his brother, who tended to be the opposite extreme of him, would be tidy and clean. Plus, she supposed it a positive. She had read somewhere that the best friendships and business partnerships usually flourished when people were dissimilar in habits.

So, if she could tell anything from her friend's kitchen, then their rebel mission boded fairly well.

He delivered the food and a warm cup of coffee. She immediately drank some of the coffee. It was not her usual drink (she tended to get caffeine from soda) but anything sugary this early would surely guarantee a sugar crash before she even truly started her day. Coffee would kickstart her for the rest of the day, and hopefully warm the chill that had oddly reached into her bones.

She smirked at his words. "You know me well. One good meal, and I'll keep coming back like a stray." She laughed and reached for her utensils, pausing to quickly look up at Albus and say, "Thanks." She rarely remembered her proper manners, but being in such a tidily kept place reminded her.

She tried a bite and her spoon clattered against the plate. She looked at him and swallowed. "Bloody hell! You actually can cook, mate. Usually when guys say they can cook, they are lying up and down." She laughed. "I wasn't expecting that. I wasn't expecting edible food."

Her spoon clanged against the plate, and she complimented him in her own Jack-esque style. Apparently, he could cook. Albus had always known that, his mother used to always praise that about him, with oddly moist eyes. Before the whole distance, even James, the bloody prat, would drop in now and then for impromptu meals claiming that there was only so much one could live on sandwiches and Chinese takeaway. The point was: Jack wasn't the first person to compliment him on his cooking.

Then why did it feel like she was?

Dyllan wants you to be hers, you know.

His cold coffee mug suddenly felt slippery against his sweaty palm. Albus laughed quickly, "Lying up and down? Well sorry to disappoint you then. I never lie."

It was only his imagination which made him believe that the silence after that was ridiculously heavy. His mug slipped against his hands further, and Albus tightened his grip. The salad was looking oddly unappetizing now. He pushed his plate away slightly and murmured, "Take my share if you like. Not hungry."

He got to his feet, and hesitated. His legs didn't quite understand which direction to move towards. Standing motionlessly for a few seconds, Albus's restless eyes flitted to the opposite wall, mind finally finding a destination. In a few short steps, he rounded around the table behind Jack's chair, left hand reaching down to grip the guitar. He needed to get it to his bedroom pronto. His shoulder skimmed against the back of Jack's chair.

Dyllan wants you to be hers, you know.

There was an odd pressure in his gums. Maybe from his teeth clenching hard enough to splinter.

Shut. Up.

Jack rarely ate salads, because she never thought they were filling enough. The salad was good, but this was a girl who was missing out on an almost all-meat breakfast. She was close to finishing the salad and her appetite and only been whetted. Damn Coach and his diet schemes. She wouldn't be so hungry if he had not had his team eating so heavily while they trained. He wanted to see a ridiculous increase in muscles before their next scrimmage. And it meant the team had been eating like kings, and then working like peasants.

Albus laughed and her eyes moved from her salad to his face. Lying up and down? Well sorry to disappoint you then. I never lie. She swallowed the mouthful of salad and flickered a small smile. "Good to know." But it was gone quickly because, even if he wanted her to believe he was being honest now, she would never believe he would never lie. Jack had learned a few important things since her transition into adulthood and there was one thing she knew for certain.

Everybody lied.

He pushed his plate towards her and offered it to her. "Thanks," she said, moving her now empty plate out of the way and placing his before her. "My coach has been having the whole team a high-protein diet for the past two weeks. I can't tell if I'm eating this because I miss non-meat foods, or because I'd usually be eating a huge meat omelet right about now." She grinned.

He stood and his body sort of shifted one way, and then the other, without ever actually moving. As she munched on her meal (well, his meal), her eyes rested on him, perplexed by his behavior. He finally began moving, still looking awkward, and came around behind her. He brushed past her and she could hear that he was doing something, so she turned around, her eyebrows meeting.

"What are you doing?" her eyes found the guitar. Interest sprung into her eyes. "What's that?"

She didn't believe him. Well, of course she didn't believe him. 'I never lie', what sort of stupid half-assed reassurance is that? Jack was an adult, with trust issues on top of that, not a naive five year old. He could never have pulled that comment off, even if he was a saintly 'Puff. The fact that he had blatantly lied to her face five minutes prior just added icing to the cake.

"What's that?"

Albus's fingers flexed helplessly over the guitar for a few seconds. Then he straightened, turned around, and upheld the instrument for viewing.

It was a dark, stone-washed grey, with light etchings around its surface. Round etchings. Similar to snake scales. No, actually looking exactly like snake scales. It was roughly triangular, with an inward pointing base, like many a guitar played by Muggle rockstars. The limelight though, was hogged by the snake. An actual, three dimensional model of a snake winding and coiling around the guitar. Its emerald eyes gleamed faintly in the pale morning light.

Albus resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. He was talking, he hadn't even realised when he had started, "It was Lily. Everyone got over the our-poor-little-Alby-is-a-Slyther'sin' joke long time ago, but she never quite did. When I made Slytherin prefect, she gifted me....this. I know I should have thrown it in the bin but....." His face burned. "People thought it was cool. And uh...rebellious." He wondered faintly if he needed to clarify to Jack who he was rebelling against, at that time. They never really had touched upon his family issues during the 'intense' conversations. "I don't even play it anyway, my real guitar is back in my bedroom..." He snapped his mouth shut.

Crap. If he could just have stopped at the fact that Lily had gifted it to him, then Jack would've thought he didn't play, period. Now she knew he did. Merlin, he didn't even know why he was so bloody coy about it.....playing that instrument just felt so ....teenager. Immature. And personal.

Well, it had gotten official. He was getting ridiculously bad at maintaining the mask, he who had been so good at it. Albus Potter, you are losing your touch.

He looked like a child caught with his hand halfway in the cookie jar. She felt a mixture of interest and amusement pushing away all feelings of trepidation and confusion. Jack was not one to hold petty emotions, but she was one disposed to appreciate the humor and joy life presented. She had been a playful teenage - if somewhat guarded and lonely. But jokes and playfulness would always be her first love.

It was just a strange thought; thinking of Albus sitting at home, perhaps sprawled out on his bed, plucking at the strings of a guitar. Jack's cousin Elliot had been of a musical nature. His only honest money was acquired from playing guitar, piano, and singing at the Leaky Cauldron. He was as close as Jack had ever gotten to being acquainted with any sort of musician or artist. She was so often affiliating people with far more practical means of distractions.

It made Jack oddly aware of how little she did not know of Albus. She would like to correct that, for some reason.

His story of having it made it no less amusing that he had kept it. Yes, if he had not wanted himself pin-holed as the melancholy musician, he should not have held on to it, regardless of who gave it to him. "So you're the cool rebellious Bad Boy with the guitar - get an earring and you could be a teen heartthrob. You'd be able to rival James - he doesn't play guitar."

He let the most important detail slip and she felt a small smile begin to unfurl on her face, her eyes glinting with amusement and devious pleasure. "You actually play?" Her salad was forgotten. "Please. Please, Albus! You can't just tell me that and not prove it! You have to play for me now."

Jack was looking at him strangely, as if trying to imagine him playing the instrument. Albus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He never had been good with people staring at him, even if it was just the two of them in the room. It gave him an odd sort-of itching feeling, in his throat, his neck, the palms of his hands. Like someone was going to scrutinise him inch by inch, find all the flaws and peel them out one by one.

She teased him, and the knee-jerk reaction to that was to shoot some offhand, wry comment as usual. Except her words made a small part of the sixteen-year old Albus, the one that had first played the guitar, the one who had the most resentment, the one that still lived somewhere inside his heart, burn. She wasn't mocking him, he knew she wasn't. But that odd mix of feelings persisted, but as she casually mentioned rivalling James, he reacted sharply to his brother's name as he hadn't done in weeks. "I don't want to rival anyone, least of all him."

Then he pressed his lips tightly. Maybe that comment wouldn't have been out of line for an Albus of a couple of months prior, but it was poison from the lips of the Albus of today. What had brought about the difference, he didn't know. "I...I mean. I don't play the guitar to be cool." Not anymore. Now it was a way to rewind, to vent.

And her next request made him twitch. "No....I...I've never played in front of anyone before. You'd want to save your ears anyway, I'm bad at it." He was on the edge, and wanted to divert. Fast. Maybe a Slytherin tactic would satisfy. His hands skimmed across the guitar, words starting slowly, "Besides, what's in it for me?"

Jack was all good humor now. She had always been one to put aside bad feelings for good feelings. It was so much easier to smile, to laugh, then to talk about the subjects that plagued her soul and mind. When it came down to it, Jack could understand a joke, a tease, a laugh. She had a harder time sorting out the thoughts in her head and why they ever persisted; it was seemingly impossible to understand the tangled emotion that hid within herself and never made any sort of attempts to explain nor manifest themselves. Joking was easier.

Perhaps this was why she had fallen for Nemo. The man had been alcoholic, depressed, and suicidal. And yet, oddly, he was the most fun she had ever had. He was like her - though plagued with thoughts of darkness, she had only ever wanted joy and laughter to cover all wounds. As had Nemo. They drank and laughed and joked, silently suffering together. But perhaps the time for jokes was over. Perhaps honesty was purer than laughter.

She sucked in a breath as his sharp reprimand. What was Albus' issues with his brother? Jack simply could not imagine the Potter household being a home that did not foster loving relationships between the family members. But his words were no gentle reminder that it was not a funny subject - they were words bred from real hurt, real pain, real resentment. She reeled back slightly, obviously surprised she had caused him any insult.

She would have to let that go, let it wait for a time when it would be more proper to ask him about his brother - if such a time even properly existed. She was not sure she was familiar enough to inquire after so touchy a subject. She struggled to regain her jovial expression, saying, "I make explosives and get things thrown at me for a living. I'm sure I could survive a few chords."

Jack was finding it difficult to balance the light conversation after his stinging comment, he could see that. She still tried valiantly though. It made Albus want to curse himself.

It also made all other objections fall silent on his tongue. This was not a good idea, but Albus still heard himself saying, "If you're sure......" One flick of the wand, and his normal guitar floated out of the doorway of his bedroom, drifted from the first landing to the bottom, bobbing above the stairs; and swerved into his right hand. He spoke, or rather, tried to speak lightly, "I'm a very exclusive artist though, and I shall need exclusive compensation for my performance. I don't work for free."

He set the instrument into position, leaning backwards on the wall for balance. He needed the support. He drew his right hand up, and stroked down the strings softly, in a bare strum. The strings thrummed, sounding ridiculously off-tune to his own ears. His pulse was pacing, slightly faster than normal. His left hand, holding the instrument was quivering, the shivers perceptible beneath the skin. Albus breathed, and gripped it tighter.

He closed his eyes.

His hands moved as if of their own accord, and music filled the room suddenly. The beginning notes were wavering, as Albus weaved a wistful, wandering tune.......his ears recognized the melody. 'One Last Breath'. His childhood favourite. He breathed in the notes, and started playing stronger. The notes were richer now, deceptively alternating between light and deep, the song swelling as his hands grew firmer and more confident. The melody flowed, and undulated, as the dark merged freely with the light.

He was humming now, unconsciously, deep in the base of his throat. It seems I've found the road to nowhere... James was smiling, waving brightly with a touch of obnoxiousness as he won his first Quidditch House Cup...But I'm down to one last breath... Lily hugging him, tightly, after they got the news of their mother dying...Please come now, I think I'm falling... Him, in the Slytherin dungeons, waiting for news whether his heroic brother had struck down Voldemort or not..Save me.... His father stroking his head when he was little, looking into bright green eyes..

His eyes opened. They hinged on Jack's stare. When had the music gotten so dark?

Hold me now,
I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinkin'..
Maybe six feet..
Ain't so far down...

Albus' song