Broken Strings

((Me agree. I’ll pm Kitty soon after this. Oh, and P.S I don’t know how you’ll like this post. It just seemed to come instinctively, coz this is as Albus as it gets. ))

For people who had everything of consequence in their lives, love was enough.

For people who had people and didn’t realize how under-rated even saying good morning to a living person everyday was, love was enough.

For people who actually felt like a part of this world, and didn’t feel like an invisible presence merely brushing over the lives of others, love was enough.

For people who didn’t feel like they were simply occupying space in the world, which would be better occupied when they were gone, love was enough.

Albus had never been among those people. For him, it would never be enough.

But hope preyed on the most strong, the most resilient. It crept up on you, like a snake slithering through the grass, and before you could react, it coiled around you and gripped you so hard that you forgot how to live without it. So Albus waited, looking at her eyes. It was the longest moment of his entire life.

She looked at him, and for a second, Albus forgot how to breathe. There was nothing hidden there. Nothing to decode, all laid out, plain and simple. She was pleading with him. Pleading. And like in a rush of Avada green, he understood.



Oh.



The world was still. Albus heard nothing, felt nothing, knew nothing. His vision was blurring, the light fading, the room darkening so fast that surely, surely it was just a dream.  The room was growing distant, her breath pushing hard and fast and echoing for so long in its confines that it seemed to stretch forever. He could have been sitting for a thousand years there, gripping Jack's hand, and he would still have been blank. His body, his hands felt detached as they lay there, wrapped around hers, and he felt numb. Like peeping through the window at someone else. Someone else, because surely this life couldn’t be his. Yet it was his, and whose else could it be? Who else would be so…..so…..

Worthless.

Looking at someone else. Albus saw himself, right then and there, clutching at the hands of a girl, downright…begging, and felt a wave of humiliation so hard and red hot course through him, that his throat burned. What had he done? What had he done? He was fine, yes, fine as he was. Closed off and masked and fine and…all it managed to do was make you feel more lonely…. and he was stupid, stupid to, Merlin, what was…..he was alone yes. Discontented, yes. But at least he had had his pride. At least he knew that if no one gave a f*ck about him, then he didn’t give a f*ck about them either, and didn’t have to live with the knowledge that the one person he did care about didn’t…..

“You’re the only friend I have.”

Breathe in.

Out.

In.

Out.

Albus raised his head, met her eyes and smiled, flawlessly brittle, sharp enough to cut glass, smile. Then slowly, like the seconds were inching backwards, refusing to meet his decision, he withdrew his hand from under hers. Her hand fell, with a soft thump, on her lap. His hand felt cold.

Then he threw back his head and laughed.

“God, you’re…..you’re….hilarious, J-“ He stopped. He couldn’t take her name yet. He stood up, the chair pushed forcefully behind with a screech, echoing in the room. “I was messing around with you, you dimwit…..god, the look on your face.” He laughed again, voice breaking. Cracking. Too hard. “Sorry if you’re mad…..but how was I supposed to know you were such a thick-skulled git? I never thought it would actually work. What did you think, that I actually l-l-loved you?” That was the first time he had said it out loud. To anyone else. To himself. Didn’t matter though, his voice was too mocking. He shook his head side to side, eyes blinking fast and furious. Burning. Tears of mirth, that’s all they were. Tears of mirth.

Albus bent forwards, face level with hers, and that hand didn’t quiver, not even a bit, when his finger pulled on her red curl teasingly, voice amused. “Sorry to disappoint you dear. But redheads aren’t really my type.”

It was the best performance of his entire f*cking life.

((No, this is interesting. I read it and knew exactly how Jack would respond. So, I apologize in advance. xD I hope you forgive the godmode. I can edit if you wish. He's just so close there's not much room to escape))

Jack stared down at her lap, no longer willing to witness all that was going on beneath his eyes. She did not need to, not unless she was willing to accept it the way he wanted her to accept it. She looked away because she did not think their companionship needed to end her. She was letting him hold onto the feeling and keep it to himself, hold onto it, and use it for someone worthier of receiving in. She wanted to be Albus' friend, not the girl who had screwed up their friendship. She wanted to find an out for both of them.

She would have never suspected. She supposed, in hindsight, some things made more sense, but she would have continued on without ever questioning why their friendship was so strong. She knew she was actually somewhat fond of Albus, but she could promise no more. As far as she knew, he was a good friend of hers. Her only, and therefore, her best friend. She did not want there to be issues between them, and she did not want to lose her friend. Her goal was to wait it out, and then they could back to normal. Sometimes, normal was good.

Her head snapped up as he began laughing, almost violently laughing. She tried to find his eyes, but found they were not attaching to hers as openly and certainly as before. Confusion swarmed Jack's face as he laughed, and remained as he began to speak. She stared at him intently, still not understanding his odd and sudden change in behavior. And then, he delivered the blow. He had been kidding, he had been messing with her head. At first, Jack refused to believe it. She stared, still slightly confused but definitely firm. But, he continued on. And she slowly began to stop feeling confused, and she began to get angry, and embarrassed, and then furious.

How dare he. How dare he make her feel that way. How dare he take that tender emotion she had only ever admitted to him and make it into a game, into a sport. She had told him of all the pain that love had caused her, how important that time in her life had been, and he had teased her about it, had faked her pain, and made her into a fool. She stared at him in furious disbelief, turning redder by the moment and slowly beginning to shake. Her hands shook on her knees - it had been a long time since they had done that and she knew what that meant. She knew what shaking hands typically led up to, and she really hoped Albus would stop, soon, and fix this mess before he crossed a line.

He grabbed her hair. “Sorry to disappoint you dear. But redheads aren’t really my type.” She was taken back in time. Images of smirking, grinning, Vito splattered over her mind. Touching her hair, laughing, reminding her that redheads were his weakness and yet, somehow, she still managed to repulse him. She remembered seeing Nemo before their friendship, with blonde women giggling and smothering their mouths flirtatiously with their long fingers, twirling their yellow locks. She was sick of stupid excuses, stupid reasons, and people being little assholes for the stupidest of reasons.

He had crossed a line.

She reached out with surprising strength and speed and grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm back and forcing it and his head onto the table. She lowered her head over him and growled into his ear. "F*ck you. If this is how you want to treat me, then f*ck you. I won't deny being your friend, and I won't deny caring a whole sh!t lot more than I probably ever should have, but no one comes into my house and treats me like that. No one. Not a friend, not an enemy. How dare you. I told you my secret. I told you my secret and you used it against me. How dare you, Albus Potter. You have wronged me. Get it straight, whatever you may think - you have wronged me. Do you understand?"

He was going out. He was gonna get out of here, now. That was the plan. He had put on the best mask he had ever made, and it was never going to shatter. Crack. Never again. Of course Jack would get pissed, but then she would thwack him on the head, laugh at her own stupidity (and he would laugh at his), and everything would be back to how it was, at least on the surface. They would laugh and smile and everything would go back to as normal as it ever could be. That was the plan.

Until Albus felt his head spin and coming into hard contact with the table.

His heart stuttered and stopped beating, his blood freezing, eyes snapping for one fatal moment. She growled into his ear, words flying into his ear like frenzied daggers, creeping into his bloodstream and twisting and curving into his innards. She wasn’t as good an actor as him. She used the anger as a shield. She couldn’t hide the hurt. The hurt.

It seemed to him as vital, as fundamental as breathing to set the misunderstanding right. To clarify things, to show how utterly impossible the entire notion was that he would trivialize her emotions, his lips parted to talk and…

“-you have wronged me. Do you understand?”

They stopped.

Above the table, the dimly lit light bulb crackled and exploded, raining down shards of glass.
There was silence for what felt like years. Maybe a few seconds. Albus felt his cheek dig into the rough table surface, her hand caught in a vice-like grip on his wrist, her harsh breath hitting his ear. His jaw tightened. His stomach was roiling. Slowly, his left arm drew up, fingers brushing over hers gripped on his shoulder. They suddenly tightened, with a precise, calculative strength, and prised her fingers off, held prisoner in his own. He jerked her other hand off, wrenching his wrist out of her clasp. Then he rose, head turning slowly to meet her gaze head on. His irises were ringed by green; the rest was dark enough to be black.

Wronged you? Wronged you? I wasn’t the only one at fault here Jack. You confessed a secret you had told no one else. You took me into your home. You got worked up over seeing me with du Hunt. You came into my house with no rhyme or reason in the morning to demand explanations, like you deserved it. You agreed to the date. You frickin’ led me on, Jack Dyllan, and you think I wronged you?

Their noses were almost touching each other, their breaths steaming and icing. Her hand was still raised, held captive in his own. For one brief, mad second, Albus thought of kissing her.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was heavy, leaden. Emotionless. “I was trying to be funny, like James. Obviously I didn’t succeed. I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

The explanation was insufficient, he knew. The only option of salvaging this, mending this, was to tell her the truth. Of letting his entire deception fall to pieces. In the end, it was ironically funny how easy the decision was to make.

“But I’m not sorry that I did it. After all, now I know what you think of me. Its
rather….enlightening.” Of course he desperately wanted that the deception should be successful. That she should never doubt his words. That didn’t stop his mind from shattering at the fact that she……did. She believed him, so easily. Found it so easy to believe that he would manipulate her emotions, that he would deliberately hurt her.

But of course, his mind spat back at him bitterly, she wouldn’t know how unthinkable the whole notion was to him. She didn’t feel the same as he did.

“Bit stupid really. Of course I should have known that you thought so low of me to think that I purposely wanted to…..ah, ‘wrong’ you.” He could see his own eyes being reflected in hers, now. They were so close. And he wished he could inject some anger into that dead, strong, impassive voice. Wish he could pretend that he was angry instead of…..

Broken. Like strings. Like glass.

Albus left her hand. It flopped to her side like a lifeless sock puppet. Somehow that action came off so much more crushing than any violence he could have inflicted. Any bruises he could have left.

He stepped back. Turned away, with a tightness of shoulder, erectness of back, dignity which would have made his mother proud. Crushed glass crinkled under his feet. Somewhere, he could see Avariella’s young, fifteen-year old features, her blond hair tumbling over his shoulders, her long fingers running soothingly through his own black locks. They were breaking up, at the time.

Relationships are like glass, Albus, she had said. Sometimes its better to leave it broken than to hurt yourself by trying to put it back together.

His voice sounded wry. Dry, satiric, just like the first time. “Tomorrows headlines. Dyllan and Potter end much rumored relation. The world rejoices.”

Albus was pressed against the table, and Jack held him there, leaning over him, her chin hardly a millimeter from his cheek as she stared at him. There was silence. Mind-shattering silence. Out of the wake of their shattered trust, came the ring of fear and disillusionment. She was close to him, very close to him. She could see the ridges and bumps on his skin, the little lines caused by aging and worry, the little hairs on his neck and cheek, running downing his chin towards his jaw. She could see the crevices of his ear, the curvature of his eyelashes, the pores in his skin. The air between them hardly seemed to exist.

How could two people so close have been torn so far apart?

She took in a shallow breath, her green eyes travelling from these characteristics of his face, moving up to catch his eyes. She dropped them again, still panting for breath. She closed her eyes. Why? Why could they not continue on, as friends and allies? Jack needed a friend, an ally, much more than she needed a... whatever it was Albus wanted to be to her. She supposed every good thing ended, for she could not claim one friend that had remained. Her work friends, she supposed, were close, but no one remained in the intimate way she always hoped. She had held such deep hopes for Albus. They had hit it off, they had bantered, they had rallied, they had begun to spur change. They had seemed like they could potentially be a great pair - but he wanted them to be a pair. She didn't know if she could do that. Not because of him, but because of... everything else.

And suddenly, he turned her around. Her expression morphed from one of sadness to one of defiant strength. She stared back at him, slowly dropping the anger. He was apologizing. She wanted everything to work out, she wanted to be able to move on. Perhaps he was letting that happen, perhaps he would allow them to move on and work it all out. "Albus, I just.."

But he began to withdraw the apology. She contracted her eyebrows and stared up at him. "What I think of you?" she repeated. What did he mean? Her mouth tipped open at his assumption. "That's not what I said!" Her cheeks burned red. She hadn't meant - he had hurt her! Whether or not he had done it purposefully or not did not change the fact! He had used her pain as a joke, and had expected her to react with grace? She bit the inside of her lip, staring at him with frustration. He had twisted his words around, he had made her into a villain. She stared at him, sucking in her lips and biting her cheeks indignation. Why was he doing this to her?

They were so close. When he spoke, she could feel his breath, feel his words literally washing over her face. She could feel changes in his expression, as slight as they were, she could feel the  air subtly rushing and squeezing between their faces. He released her, and he was not just letting her free from his grip. He was letting her go. He was severing the connection, he was breaking the knot. He wanted nothing more from her, of her. Albus had decided it was time for them to part. She was losing her friend now.

She reached out, her hand going for his when he pulled away. She managed to catch his finger. "Albus."

Please. I need a friend. I need you too.

((Okay, so this thread destroyed me. You two are far too talented for my mental wellbeing. That said, this was really hard to write, but it's far better than my first draft. It's also a bit long, oops? ;P))

Katrina-Carlotta was many things. On the surface she was a dark witch, an attractive one. Beneath the surface she was an even darker witch, with a piercing eye, intelligent mind, and twisted morals. Deeper than even that, however, was chaos. The woman had long ago taken to nodding along with a mysterious smirk when it was announced that she was lacking a heart. She'd even raised an eyebrow with a malicious laugh when a sobbing, now-childless widow screeched that she couldn't possibly have emotions. That now-deceased Irish widow couldn't have been more wrong. Deep beneath all the layers of uncaring and collectedness and spite, a part of the Death Eater was still nothing more than the lonely little girl she'd once been.

The woman had never been very good with people. Sure, she could predict and manipulate and blackmail far beyond the abilities of most. But when it came to true human emotion, a real connection between herself and another person, the witch was sorely lacking in experience. She understood and felt affection for her mentors, felt the smallest amount of debt to her parents, respected all the other powerful people of the world she'd encountered, and loathed many. Such was the basic extent of Katrina-Carlotta's social encounters.

And then, there was Albus Potter. The wizard fascinated her, amused her, and enthralled her. As if that wasn’t enough, the European couldn’t help but feel some affection for the male, along with the small dose of respect she also held for him. Biting her tongue in a twisted form of self-punishment, Katrina-Carlotta cursed herself inside the organized chaos of her mind.

She was standing outside the house of Jack Dyllan. She was standing outside Jack Dyllan’s home. There were so many reasons why this was a completely stupid and utterly unintelligent thing to do. And yet, the woman was there anyway. If why she’d set a ward on Albus that would alert her if he was in the presence of Dyllan in the first place was slightly beyond her, why she’d now taken the effort to arrive at the scene confounded her all the more.

Katrina-Carlotta was about to turn away from the home when her extensively trained ears picked up Albus’s pleading voice. Oh. Well it wasn’t like she could turn her back now. Feeling oddly protective of the male, the witch turned back towards the door with a frown upon her features. Was this how a parent was supposed to feel about their child? The protectiveness, the affection, the pride in their talents, and awareness of their faults.

But then the conversation the witch was eavesdropping upon changed. The two younger magic-users were spiraling downwards in a mess of hurt, upset, and misunderstanding. Katrina-Carlotta was stuck, unable to move upon hearing the raw pain in both of the young voices. She was of half a mind to slaughter the redhead for causing Albus so much hurt.

Thoughts and emotions finally registering within her own brain, the recipient of the woman’s anger switched faster than the swiftest flash of lightning. Suddenly, the name Jack Dyllan didn’t matter so much anymore. All that mattered was Albus Potter. Albus Potter, whom made her feel new and impractical things. Albus Potter, whom she respected far more than she’d ever respected anyone else his age. Albus Potter, who reminded her far too much of a young dark-haired European girl no-one had ever understood. Albus Potter, who was creating cracks in practiced masks and taking over her thoughts.

Who was he to make her feel like this? Who was he to make her care? Who was he to break into the heart of a feared and deadly assassin?

Rage unlike anything she’d experienced in years filled every cell of her body. In a twisted way, it was a relief; Katrina-Carlotta knew how to deal with anger.

Blasting the door open to loudly announce her presence, the dark witch walked through the house with practiced steps. The woman was sure that her magic was tangible due to her anger, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. After all, why shouldn’t the victims of her wrath feel and fear her strength? Piercing eyes taking in the scene in front of her, Katrina-Carlotta smiled coldly. “Well if it isn’t my favorite Potter and my least favorite redhead,” the assassin announced smoothly, voice so cold it was a wonder the windows weren’t frosted over.

Dark eyes landing upon the younger female, Katrina-Carlotta’s face twisted into an ugly mockery of concern, “oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt a little lovers spat?” It was a low blow, a very low blow. Especially considering the conversation the two had just been happening and the discussion that had taken place on her second meeting with the Potter. But little was beneath her now. She wanted them both to hurt.

Gaze turning to Albus, her face yet again morphed into something overly-fake. Widening her eyes, the witch adopted a sickly-sweet fond expression. “Albus, how great to see you. It feels as if it’s been far too long, yet it hasn’t even been a week!” Katrina-Carlotta let the words slip from her lips, not stopping to think. She would probably regret this later, but right now she intended to savor the expressions of her victims. She had always been far too fond of revenge.

Jack had caught Albus' finger and she stared at him, holding on with everything in being, onto that one, solitary finger. It no longer felt like flesh and blood, but it felt like something more. It was as though she were holding on to the last thread that kept Albus remotely tied to her life. He had left it, but now he was back, and Jack was realizing that she was absolutely sick and tired of people waltzing in and out of her life. No, Albus had made an impact. He had gotten her to believe in change, and revolution, and friendship. He had to stay. They would get over this, and he had to stay.

She took a deep breath, preparing to make her argument for the continuation of their friendship, when the door suddenly burst open. Jack straightened up, her back stiffening, and her wand appearing like magic (ha) from out of her pocket,firmly clasped in her hand. She had to love her Quidditch reflexes. It seems they still had not gotten all of their protective wards up since the Boggart break-in had shaken them, and something much worse than a Boggart had arrived this time. Jack's heart thumped with anger, her face fought off an expression of shock and kept the feeling within herself, while her brow set into a relaxed state of determination. She was intending on keeping Albus around - that meant getting rid of the most unwelcome Katrina-Carlotta du Hunt.

Katrina-Carlotta spoke first, and Jack resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She had never even been formally introduced to the woman. "You're one for snap decisions," Jack said drolly. "That sort of dim thinking will get you in trouble one of these days." Jack's wand remained trained on the elder woman, though Jack did not shrink or appear nervous. It was her home, and she knew she could defend it. Even from someone like Katrina-Carlotta - especially from someone like Katrina-Carlotta. Her next words, did throw Jack a bit though. She began to speak when she realized she was still holding on to Albus' finger. She dropped it, slowly though, for this was her house and the feelings and actions of another person were sure as hell not going to dictate how she went about living her own life.

Something inside of her did, however, twinge, when Katrina-Carlotta delivered her next blow, for she was masterful in that aspect. Jack swallowed down the questions she wanted to turn on Albus, deciding she could deal with that at another time. This woman, however, was presenting herself as an enemy. And Jack would have none of her. She would not let someone come in and prove how they could further tear apart her peace of mind, or her sanity. She would deal with Katrina-Carlotta before she turned her attention to Albus, and attempted to sort out the issues that lied there. She rested her eyes heavily upon the dark-haired woman. "We have this rule in this house about knocking. Please, go outside and try again."

"Albus."

Damn you. Damn you Dyllan. Bloody hell, she had no right. No right to sound so f*cking vulnerable when he was the one suffering, damnit. No right to hold on to his finger, that tiny physical contact initiated making his heart leap in his chest, the bloody traitor. He was crumbling, he knew it, crumbling like a sand castle; he wouldn't be able to stop himself from turning now, to stop those treacherous little confessions and truths from sliding out of his lips....

The door blasted open.

Albus blinked for some odd seconds, heart thudding almost in slow-motion inside his chest. Something slid, smoothly into place inside his head. Something in the immediate drop in temperature in the room, in the chilled, restless air, in that striding, confident walk of the woman before him, in the shadows flickering in and out of being inside her eyes. And even before Katrina-Carlotta du Hunt had opened her mouth to speak, Albus knew.

The ice of realisation, spreading with vicious intent, numbed his mind. He could think nothing, no protest. Nothing he would say now would change anything.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt a little lovers spat?”

Blackness licked the corner of his vision. His fingers tightened, knuckles cracking inaudibly, blunt nails digging out vicious half-moon impressions against his folded palm. This sensation of pure, blind......anger, felt heady. His very magic seemed to be stirring, boiling, revolting in his blood, his veins. His wand vibrated in his pocket. Words leapt and flickered on his tongue, curses, magic.....he had never hated with such intensity before. Hated that very woman who seemed to be the only one who recognized his talent. Two words, and he would have meant them both. Avada Kedavra, and Katrina-Carlotta would have been lying pale and still on the floor.

But...but....Albus closed his eyes, head throbbing, trying to clear his mind. He wasn't proud of his taut restraint for nothing. Something wasn't right. Confusion seeped in through the numbness, why? He could understand trying to break up the Rebel-Order alliance, weakening one's enemies, but why this malice? This cold, bitter joy in the miseries of other people? In his? Her eyes were dark, so dark, and for the first time in a lifetime, perfectly readable. His emerald orbs flicked over the refined European's and found things etched there that.....it hit him like a speeding truck.

Somewhere, a voice in his mind hissed: A Dark Witch who you haven't met more than thrice cares more about you that she does.

No, no, Jack sounded like she actually believed in him this time, she didn't accuse him immediately...

She didn't contradict du Hunt's words either. That hit him like cold water.

No, it co-

It's hard to take a role in someone's life when you're not even part of the script in the first place.




Albus turned around slowly.  "She's telling the truth Jack."

Inside his head, his mind was watching on, fascinated. Morbidly, masochistically enthralled, like how eyes are watching a volcano erupt, wiping out everything in its vicinity, like watching a gruesome murder scene, gaze drawing towards the dead body despite everything. His voice was strange, echoing in his ears. "When you saw us that day in Satan's was the day we first met. I lied to you when I said I said no to her proposal." It was fine. He had meant to tell her today anyway. Not like this. Not, not...not like... "I met her again, after that day. She had offered to train me. In...in Dark Arts."

Like an old, archaic movie he'd seen, 'Titanic' where the architect walks down the corridors of the grand ship he had made, watching it get obliterated. Like watching as his life self-destructed around him. "She was the first person I met when I came back. She offered to ally the Rebels with ...with..the Death Eaters."

He could have said more. He should have said more. One line, one word, to justify himself. But he didn't. For two reasons.

First, it would be lying. Again.

Second, he had tried his hand at stepping off a cliff, hoping for a break from the fall. He had risked, before. He had trusted Jack, before. He had hoped, before. Now his mask clung around him, drawing his features, his emotions inhumanly, brutishly behind the wall. Never again.

It was a little unfair how no matter what Albus always managed to surprise her. Every time the witch figured she had the Potter at least sort-of pegged, he would go and do something that would force her to completely re-evaluate everything she'd previously considered fact. It was rather refreshing, if completely and utterly frustrating.

"My dislike of you was hardly a quick and uncalculated decision," she informed Jack dryly, figuring it would be far easier to deal with the witch first and get her out of the way, "I assure you, I have spent far more time in your presence than you realize." It was the truth, but the dark witch may have purposely phrased it in a way that made it sound like the assassin was keeping tabs on the redhead.

The European was still uncertain of what to think about Albus's response to the matter at hand. Openly admitting that he had lied to Jack and met with a Death Eater multiple times had not been in the cards. All of the remaining anger drained from Katrina-Carlotta's mind with the realization of exactly what that meant. Albus had chosen her over Jack. There were almost certainly other factors involved, but the end result still remained the same. Albus had chosen her over the woman he loved.

As much as the dark witch's ego purred from Albus's actions, the realist in her was positive that the wizard would regret this. Katrina-Carlotta wasn't exactly sure what her objective had been when she stormed through the front door, but she certainly hadn't visualized anything quite like this.

And really, what the hell was Albus doing? She knew how much Jack meant to him. She may hate the other witch, but that didn't mean she was blind to that way Albus had seemed to rely on the redhead for support.

Taking a moment to wonder how she had managed to end up the responsible one when all this was her fault in the first place, the dark witch met Albus's eyes. Face completely blank, she entered the man's mind as obviously but un-harmfully as possible. She pulled out only moments later, purposely staying as far away from scanning the Potter's memories as possible. She did, however, leave behind a message, the words ringing within Albus's mind even after their eye-contact was broken. "You're sure?"

Jack rolled her eyes at Katrina-Carlotta's comment, so utterly unimpressed with the woman. "Oh my goodness, cat fights are not my thing. Either hit me or shut the hell up, I don't do this passive-aggressive bullshit." This was Jack's home, and nobody could disrespect her within it. Few people dared to disrespect her out of it, and the fact that Katrina-Carlotta was doing it pissed her off. If anything, the two women should have had some level of respect for each other, like two war generals. They were on opposite sides, but they were both good at what they did. But Katrina-Carlotta had ruined it by storming in with the ignorant superiority complex that made for a very boring opponent. Jack was sick of boring opponents.

Albus spoke and Jack slowly turned her head to him, latching her eyes onto his. He began to speak and Jack felt a strange rise of emotion within her, catching in her throat and preventing her from breathing. She willed herself to forget Katrina-Carlotta's presence in her house. She knew she was there, and she knew she should not ignore her (Jack was clever enough to know who you should not turn your back on) but she did not know what would happen if she looked at the woman. This would hurt, so much more, if she acknowledged the fact that their were witnesses. And this hurt... a lot.

Jack had always been responsible. Every one of Vito's murders were recorded in her conscience and her heart, weighing her down, holding her back. Chase's death played back like wartime flashbacks, reminding her of hidden shame and guilt. Nemo being carted off to America with pain his his face and confusion in his eyes haunted her as she fell asleep. Jack was responsible for the souls of the people she loved. They entrusted her with their humanity and she always seemed to fail them. And Albus was telling her she was failing. She was failing him.

She closed her eyes, trying to inhale and being unable to do so. She slowed her breath and tried to listen to the world around her, tried to get out of herself. If she dwelled within herself, it would hurt. And she would lash out like a wounded animal, and she would regret it. She would spurn her only friend, send him deeper into the influence of her supposed enemy, and add yet another lost soul to her never ending roster. She could not respond for herself, no matter how it hurt. Because, when Sunny broke her heart, Jack could not break Sunny's. Albus was not a child, not was he anything of that sort, but she had promised him, as she had promised Sunny, that nothing he would say would make her run away. She had meant it that night when she had found him in the rain, and she meant it now.

She opened her eyes and turned to Albus, holding the gaze. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, unable to say it with the eyes of everyone looking into her own eyes. She remembered the lyrics. She wondered if he remembered too. In a hollow voice, she stated as simply as she could, "Sad eyes follow me, but I still believe there's something left for me. So please come stay with me, 'cause I still believe there's something left for you and me."

She couldn't give up on someone. She never had before. She just didn't know if he had given up on her.

There was a third reason for his actions that Albus would never acknowledge, not in a lifetime.

He wanted to push her away. Because he couldn’t live like this, under the pretense of friends, when today’s words would always hang like this between them, like an invisible wall, like a shroud that choked you unawares.

For one fraction of a second, he wanted her to hurt as much as he did.

Love was not the exalted, rose-tinted emotion of the books, or the movies. It never was. It was a gripping, tumultuous thing, a monster that dwelt inside your chest, changing everything, for the better or the worse. It reduced powerful, strong men to gibbering, crushed, fading shadows of themselves, to skeletons of what they had been, doing things they would never have dreamt of doing, saying things better left unsaid. Jealousy destroyed you from inside, left you a rotting parody of yourself, happiness swooped down upon you unawares like a bird of prey and you lived in a world of delusions; clinging to false hope till it sucked your heart dry. It also took men to heights and deeds that were unthinkable prior, but those only represented the deceptively calm surface, cloaking the turbulent depths within; no one spoke of the journey through agony that it took you to get there.

But now, watching her actually struggle to breathe, blinking hard, closing her eyes as if even looking at this world which had wounded her so much was too difficult…..
Katrina-Carlotta’s voice echoed within the confines of his head: You’re sure?......

No. No. Of course not.

Jack. How could he forget? Forget the wounds, half-scabbed and still leaking blood that she already had, the tangible, raw pain in her eyes as they had stood in Nemo’s room that day, that hasty, scrabbled enquiry as she mumbled, ‘oh, just one other thing…”; how could he forget? He waited, stood there, ready as one could ever be, waiting for the justified scream, the mud-slinging, the accusations of betrayal. Waited for her to give him what he deserved. It never came.

“Gryffindork.” He had said it once before, long, long before, when that stupid tendency to nobility and sainthood had shown itself. It had been exasperatedly fond. Now, it was just desperate.

Blasted forgiveness had forced him to re-evaluate his motivations all over again.

He wanted the Dark Magic, yes. Craved it, even. It was the only thing he had ever been good at. It was the only thing that allowed him to have pride swell inside his chest. He wanted to stand apart from the rest of them. He wanted to come first. For someone, anyone. To matter. To be important, a priority. Not a substitute, a replacement, someone replaceable. He wanted, wanted….. the assurance that he wasn’t too worthless to be cared for.

Now Fate dangled both in front of him, cruelly, ruthlessly; but he could only choose one.

She spoke the lyrics, the words dropping off like lead weights from her tongue, and something completed inside his head/; hold me now….I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking..maybe six feet…ain’t so far down….

His head cleared, rising up, gravity relinquishing its vice-like grip. Green eyes met green, unafraid, confronting. There was only one solution.

One last chance. One last time.

“If you really think that…” His feet lifted, dragging, one before the other, glass crumbling under his shoes. Taking him towards her. “If you really think that….then tell me.” His hand, the one which had held hers so tightly when his words had ruined it, ruined them, the one which had let it go, rose up again, palm upwards, proffered out. “Will you, or won’t you?”

His gaze allowed no escape, no mercy. She knew what he was asking. She had to know what he was asking. She knew of the choice he had to make, except now that choice was hers, given to her freely. To take the hand, and all that it implied and pull him back. Or to let it go, and push him over the edge.

The choice was hers.