Oh, and just one other thing...

"Let them be insulted," she said, waving a hand. There was a pretentious air in the way she waved that hand that hearkened to such statements as 'let them eat cake' or 'well behaved women rarely make history', full of sass. She didn't mind. She grinned. "Let them eat escargot."

She laughed heartily as he likened himself to the figure of a kitten at her suggestion, painting her a wonderful, but somehow horrid, picture. "I'll be sure to get you a collar with a bell so I can hear you approaching." She looked up thoughtfully. "And maybe a scratching post. Kitties get angry when they can't sharpen their claws." She looked up to see his eyes on her, and she struggled - what was she supposed to do with her face when he was looking at her? Suddenly, her lips, cheeks, and eyebrows felt so awkward. What were they there for?!

Oh, right.

He interrupted himself by beginning to clean the dishes. He spoke to her and she felt herself straighten a bit, going rigid. She wasn't sure what to say. Vito had never spoken to her about his victims. "How do you feel about that?" she ventured.

"How do you feel about that?"

Albus's mind froze, then relaxed. Good, she remembered. It was stupid of him to think that she wouldn't, even though she probably didn't give two Knuts about him. Like he didn't about her. Okay.....maybe two Galleons. Or two hundred. Right.

Perhaps it was better if she hadn't remembered.

And the question. God, the question. Jack wasn't the most eloquent of people, but she was twenty plus for Merlin's sake. And had gone through hardships. Surely she knew that talking about such....topics didn't call for inane questions like "how do you feel". If Albus hadn't been so concentrated on making sure that the well of churning feelings in his chest -guilt, his subconscious whispered- remained tightly sealed, and his voice didn't slip, then he would have rolled his eyes.

His hands went on scrubbing. "I'm not ecstatic. Or brimming with sadistic happiness, if that's what you're enquiring about." His voice sounded a bit flat, monotonous. And slightly accusing, if he was completely honest with himself. Jack should trust him a bit better than that. Of course it didn't help with his conscience adding its own Knut of worth: one name, Katrina-Carlotta du Hunt, for that accusation to quickly plummet. Whatever.

He started drying. He left the tap open. "I'm pretty much neutral about it, to be honest." And sounding way too normal. It was a good thing, of course it was, that he could talk about it with relative calm. That he could move on. It was survival instinct, not callousness.

Wasn't it?

Jack pursed her lips and looked down, fiddling with her index finger, trying to pop the joint. She didn't particularly appreciate the tone in his voice - what else was she supposed to say? Anything she said would be overreaching or plain callous. 'Great, now there's no witness'. Or was she supposed to pretend to mourn the death of a woman she had never known. Naturally, she was displeased that his magic had been severe enough to actually cause a fatality, but she needn't express that.

Jack would rather they move on, but Jack was certain he would be unable to do that. Causing the death of someone stuck with people. Jack knew no one would consider her a murderer, but she knew she had sent Vito to his death. And by being his original creator, she had to own up to the idea that she was responsible for his multiple, countless murders. But she clung to the ideal that she would never be the one to condone the taking of a life. Wasn't she preaching that to the Order? That their morality was all that kept them apart.

Her eyes flicked up to him, saying, "I didn't say that. How can you expect me to trust you if you don't trust me to do just that." There was a bit more bite in her voice than she had meant to add. "I'm just saying... I want to know. Isn't that what people do? Be supportive, try to empathize? Just... Just trying to be a friend." She glared down at her hands, quickly and aggressively popping her knuckles and causing a small series of pops.

Albus resisted the urge to cover his face with his hand in frustration.

It was always, always like this. He and Jack ended up slipping up with a secret that no one was supposed to know, and tried in their own stupid ways to comfort the other, messing up in an epic way (Jack more than him, he repeatedly asserted). And then they would joke half-heartedly, tease, shoot out drawling, sarcastic one-liners until they managed to hit a soft spot. Then the cycle would begin again.

Routine. He hated routine. He was routine.

Albus took in a deep breath, and forced it down. For some reason, around Jack, he always had to remind himself that he was the calm one. He didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing. He turned and walked to the doorway, leaning against it slightly. "I'm....sorry. I was just..." Behaving like how a guilty person does. Finding accusations in innocent statements. "I was being stupid."

"I know you're trying to help. Ridiculously bad at it, by the way." The mildly teasing words escaped from his lips half-heartedly. "Can't we just....stick to kittens? Bells, scratching posts and all?
.
.
.
.

"And no, this does not mean that you get to put a collar on my neck."

He apologized, but Jack felt strange, felt uneasy. The way she felt when things had been amiable between herself and Vito. It was some throbbing insistence deep inside her to not take things at face value, to be prepared for the absolute worst that could potentially be thrown at her. But that was not the way that Jack wanted to live. She was sick of living in a way that was prepared for an ulterior motive, prepared to be screwed over by the people she supposed she should trust. She wanted to be like the people who could expect goodness and normalcy out of people.

But she was struggling.

She would figure this out on her own, she supposed. What else could she do - stay here and flounder about with frustration she could not fully describe to herself, let alone Albus? No, she would just accept it at face value for now and try to figure this whole ordeal out later. Possibly at dinner. Yes, that would be good.

Jack grimaced. "People aren't my forte," she said, by means of explanation. Give her a dragon, and she could lull it to sleep. Give her a person, and there was a chance she would break it. She smiled again, jerking a nod in response. "Yes. Let's stick with kittens." She cleared her throat. "Well. I came, I spoke, I ate - I should probably get going." She stood up.

"Going now? Why?" The words shot out, amidst garbled, half-formed thoughts, and an instinctive urge to keep Jack there. She looked good in his dining room. Like a nice antique vase, or a Persian rug. A spot of mess, a high-flying tornado in a clean, bland room. She complemented the surroundings, looked comfortable.....and complete.

Albus half-fantasised what it would be like to tell Jack that he had just compared her to a piece of upholstery.

Then, as he had been apt to do in the past few days, wondered at his state of sanity.

"I mean....of course. You're busy. Famous Quidditch player, perfectly understandable. So am I, actually. Busy that is. Not a Quidditch player." Albus wondered if his composed voice was enough to make his words seem less than a harried ramble. He blinked rapidly. "Feel free to go. Not that I'm pushing you out or anything. That would be exceedingly discourteous, especially to a friend."

Great. Now he was sounding like a stuck-up prat.

Two quick exhalations later, he was sounding like his relatively normal self. "Thanks for coming over. I'll keep you updated on the rebel situation."

Albus' response was not as she expected. She wasn't sure what she had expected. When she had first begun living on her own, she would always rush visitors out the door. Then again, as she had said not moments before, people weren't her forte. Still, Albus has always been more antisocial and withdrawn than she, but it was he that made the more courteous host. Funny how those things worked out. But she was getting far too thoughtful on these matters she supposed she really knew nothing about.

She tried to think of a proper reason to leave. The only reason she had said it was that she figured she had overstayed her welcome. Now, however, she could not turn around and say otherwise, invite herself to stay longer than what she had already considered to be excessive. She opened her mouth, hoping the words would come, when Albus began to give her excuses for her. Yes, of course she should be busy, she was a Quidditch player and all. Right? Yes, she was sure she had something to be doing.

She smiled a bit, as he rambled on. The smile was one of surprise and confusion, but she played it off with a smile. Why should he, the ever eloquent Albus Potter, suddenly be stuttering over his words and rambling about. "A bit muddle-brained for a revolutionary and an author," she teased, hoping to snap him back to himself. She stood, rubbing her filth and approaching the door, placing a hand on the doorknob, looking back as he spoke. "You got it."

You knew something was highly wrong with the world when Jack I-am-queen-of-oblivious Dyllan realised you were behaving strangely.

The thought was sobering enough for Albus to shrug, cock an eyebrow and say it like it was the absolute truth, "Stupidity must be contagious." The faux playful smile loosened into a real, faint smirk though, as he leaned forward slightly, "That's what happens when a revolutionary and author starts hanging around pea-brained athletes."

It was good to know that no matter what, shooting sardonic comments around Jack Dyllan would always be the same as the day he had done it crouching behind a trashcan. It was familiar ground which provided reprieve from all tensions; which should have been a greater warning bell than anything else.

He pushed open the door, and it swung out. "Feel free to drop in for food whenever you like." The words felt bracing, courageous. "Friday, Jack. Don't forget."

She sneered. "Say what you will. I can beat the opinion out of you." She raised a fist into the air, giving a threatening look, though there was the ghost of a taunt on her features to ensure him he would not be bruised in the near future. The less-near future, however, was not certain - so she hoped he took it to heart and reminded himself that Jack had earned herself a respectable number of Outstandings on her NEWTs. She had been a lazy student, but Jack had an unusual wit (what she called basic common sense) that really helped her get by, even though she had not been one to study.

She had to get going though. What she would do next, she was not entirely certain about, though she was sure something would crop up. Something always seemed to come up; whether or not she was able to get to it or properly handle it was another thing. Jack just felt as though remaining would not be the proper thing to do, so she had to follow through with her departure, no matter how awkward.

She made he way out the door, muttering an almost inaudible thank you as she stepped out onto the stoop. She turned as he spoke and found she was suddenly able to muster up the spirit she had been so lacking the night before. She smiled a wry smile and said, "I'm sure you won't let me." With that, she turned on her heel and disapparated.