Ready to Reboot [open]

Jack would have been content to stare into her drink for the rest of the night. She had come to forget everyone after all. She would drink, and the alcohol would push them out, cleanse her of these feelings that just too often got in the way of everything else. She f*cking hated goddamn feelings. Where the hell did they even come from? She had always been the aloof one, unfamiliar with her own opinions on things. When did other people’s opinions start having any validity to it? She hated it. She felt so stupid, and weak, and everyday. She felt like everyone else. And that sucked. She had gone from legacy to regular old loser.

And Fred saw it. He was probably thinking she was just as bad as Hogwarts girls overly concerned with how their friends saw them and how their crushes perceived them. She probably looked like an idiot, letting Albus Potter’s opinion of her demolish her into a drunk. But it wasn’t about Albus Potter, was it? It was her irritation that she could not just man the f*ck up and let herself feel something for once. He had given her the opportunity to actually explore the idea of letting someone in, and she had squandered it. And now she was regretting it, sitting here like a fool…

What an embarrassment.

Suddenly, Fred caught her attention. Her eyes rose from her drink and locked with his. She hated that he had to say all of this. How far she had fallen. But… he was telling it to her. Fred remembered that she used to be more than this. That she could potentially be that again. That just because she was stupid and pathetic right now did not mean she was resigned to be so for the rest of her life. She stared at him as he spoke, flinching under the weight of his glass, but never looking away. He was reminding her. He was inspiring her. She wanted it to be true, and she wanted to trust it. She wanted to believe what he was saying with every fiber of her being.

She would have to buy Fred a drink later in return.

She reached out and caught his hand. “It’s time to stop being a whiney little b!tch,” she said, nodding her head. “Gotta man up.”

((OOC: An Albus/Jack thread, after soooo long. So I went out-of-control with the post. A little ))

There were two, isolated beats: time during which Fred's mind was blank, eyes fixated on the pale, drawn-out face before him, some corner of his brain struck point blank and reeling, yet wondering why he should be surprised; before she grabbed his hand.

It was still a good, strong grip. Quidditch-calloused. That was one needle of familiarity, in a haystack of change.

Then something hooked round his navel, and they were pulled back into black.

~


"Deck the halls with boughs of holly,
Fa la la la la, lala la la
'Tis the season to be jolly;
Fa la la la la, lala la la.........

It had been a dull, slow ache that had began when dawn had first opened its eyes. It refused to submit to the surge of caffeine that a mug of morning coffee brought, nor a morning run. It made reading or working an impossibility, the pain building up behind his eyelids till his vision danced with white spots. The only brief time of relief was when he cast, the writhing red and black and green lights worming their way out of his wand, reducing the practice dummy to mere cinders. Then the ache magnified into a blinding migraine, throbbing and pulsating behind the skin of his temples till Albus felt like ripping his head into two.

The people down the street kept singing.

"Don me now....our gay apparel...
Fa la la....la la la....la la la....."

He was currently slumped across the armchair in his room, blankets pooled round his waist, neck strained against the head-rest, eyes closed. He would not go back to bed, and leave the day for lost. Give up. Would not.

When the doorbell rang, it was a godsend, to jerk him out of the pain-hazed stupor. The walk down the stairs, bare feet sucking out the numbing cold from the floor like a leech, was still sheer torture. It was cold, and he was sweating, and the droplets clung and cooled on his skin like a suffocating film.

Troll the ancient Christmas carol.....
Fa la la la la.....la la .....la .....la ......

He opened the door.


"Well." Fred said brightly. "You look well."

Albus kept on staring. They kept on standing there, too. Yes, they. Fred and.....

His headache just got that much worse.

Fred's right eyebrow rose up, slowly. Albus watched its progress up his hairline. Then another eyebrow joined it, as if to say, 'invite us in already, you dimwit.' Albus went with the routine response, allowing his brain to shut off and resort to plain, comfortable reactions: masks. His lips stretched out and up, in a smile, till it felt like his facial muscles would crack. "Way to spring a surprise on an unsuspecting fellow." His voice sounded normal. Good. He turned around, padding his way slowly across the hallway. Every step seemed to send a throb of pain jolting up his spine. "Come on in. I'm a little unwell, so don't have supplies in the house and much to offer, I'm afrai-"

"Let's cut it with the pretence crap, hey Al?"

Albus paused. Turned around again, slowly. There was a curious hardness about Fred's grin, something determined and intent lingering around his eyes; like James used to get when he was a man on a mission. Albus said nothing.

Fred's patience, if he ever had any in the first place, seemed to be wearing thin. The closed-off grin persisted, voice all nice and amiable, words hard-hitting, "You know I don't like being ignored A-"

"And you know I don't like being bloody patronised, Fred." Voices didn't take long to change from normal to downright incisive.

The grin had disappeared. Albus wished there was a scowl to go along with it, but there was nothing. Just a curious sort of disappointment, and a hint of sadness that drove Albus up the wall. Fred just stayed quiet, then looked up, words diving in like daggers the way he always knew how. "Didn't realise the concern of family was patronising now." Then he smiled, and it wasn't the happy kind. "Well."

Fred waved a hand towards.....her, as if to say, 'your move, now.' He turned away with a twisting motion, and for a mad, mad second, Albus had to use everything in him to clamp down the urge of calling him back. The elder Weasley Apparated with a pop, and Albus was left thinking about Lily and James and messed up family choices. Again.

And there was still a redhead standing on his doorstep.

Life, at one point, had been better.

"Fa la la la la......la la....la....la......"

((I love it. Please excuse me while I search for my muse.))

Shoulders bumping. Fingers tightening. Feet dangling.

Her feet touched the ground and she quickly adjusted her knees, helping her respond and catch herself. Jack felt her legs moving, her feet pulling her towards Albus’ house, as though she were being propelled by some invisible force. She did not want to go. She realized this as she approached. This was bound to make everything a million times worse. It had been so long. It would be better, kinder, to just let Albus hate her forever, remain the bad guy in his eyes and in Katrina-Carlotta’s eyes, and they could all attempt to move on and do whatever they were meant to do.

But Jack was not as selfless as she wished she could be. She wanted to see him. She wanted him to know she cared. She wanted him to see the world as teeming with hope and potential, not as full of disappointment and regret. She wanted to know that the light would win within Albus Potter, because the Potter family mattered very much to her. It was because of Harry Potter’s inspiration and efforts that she was allowed to learn magic as a muggleborn. It was because of James Potter that she ever gave a professional career in Quidditch a second chance. And it was because of Albus Potter that… what? That she began to enjoy people again? To care about them?

Albus had done something for her, and she wanted to do good for him. And… she really wanted to see him.

They reached the door and Fred did the honors. Jack glanced up at him, glad he was here, afraid that he would see something that would turn him against her as well. It would be perfect to leave here with two friends. It would be horrid to leave without either. Her breath was catching in her throat. Her hands were beginning to tremble. Her mouth was getting drier and drier…

And just like that, the door opened. And there was Albus Potter. Her eyes and his face were so unceremoniously reacquainted that Jack almost could not believe that it was him before her. Jack looked at him, open. She was sick of not being open. She was sick of faking. She was sick of not being what felt natural to her. And though fear was not typical on her, it was natural, and even though she was afraid of revealing what she was, she was going to try it.

That’s when Albus became “Albus.” The smile that so easily fell on his face felt so sickening to her eyes. She knew. She knew. He beckoned them in and Jack looked to Fred, before letting out a sad breath. This was destined to fail. Surely. She was not enough of herself to make sure she was able to properly speak with Albus, and there was no way he would just say what needed being said. He would be polite and kind and –

This was why she liked Fred. He quickly cut through the bull and she soon found two pairs of eyes on her. She looked to Fred to give him a thankful look, when he disappeared. Oh. Right. Shit. Um…

She looked back at Albus and then slowly stepped inside. She closed the door behind her and faced him, holding on to the collar of her jacket for awhile, just looking at him. Because, chances were, she probably would not get a chance to see him. She shook her foot a bit, before taking a big breath. Man up, Dyllan, f*cking man up. She looked up at him.

“I really f*cking miss seeing your stupid face, Potter.”

Yes, life had been better at a point. Like, two seconds prior. Atleast then, the redhead had still been standing at the doorstep.

He had turned away, naturally. She wasn't going to come in. She wasn't. He knew her that much, at least. For whatever reason she had accompanied Fred, (and his feelings towards that Weasley were still a curious cocktail of guilt, regret and sheer outrage at even having the audacity to pull a stunt like this, because it was his, Albus knew it), that reason had evaporated as soon as they had set eyes on one another. She would turn around, and leave. That was just the way she was, or rather had been, ever since he had stolen that first look of her in the little alley off Diagon, peeking above a trash-can. Her obstinacy, and her fear, would never allow it.

Except there was a little click, which could be nothing but the door shutting behind someone; and two small footsteps. He turned, and she was standing opposite him, not more than five feet away. Five feet. Her fingers, looking pale and starved underneath the bleaching light of the Muggle lights, clenched and unclenched over the collar of her jacket. Her left foot was quivering, twisting about in its place.

He wasn't observing her. Never would, again. Simply taking every reason in sight to refuse looking at her face. Not avoid. Refuse.

And it was a shame, because she kept looking. And with every second that she took, the pain expanded, the throb magnifying and crashing against the walls of his head with a raw ferocity that scoured every inch and left it empty; till the confines of his head were nothing but vast, echoing depths, ringing with pain, ringing with questions.

She had never bothered to look, before. Not carefully, not scoping out every detail with a desperate eye. Why? Why now?

Afloat on an island of consciousness amidst the migraine, the light pricking at the edges of the eyelids was almost unnoticeable. Staring at one point too long had that kind of effect. For Albus, it was the worn out spot on the flooring next to the ragged ends of her shoelaces; pale and discoloured from the rest. It wasn't fair. She was the one who should be avoiding her eyes, not him. He didn't do anything wrong.

“I really f*cking miss seeing your stupid face, Potter.”

The room was a vacuum, the air drawing to a dangerous low; lungs straining to draw it in. In the mindless drive to force it, in and out, in and out; memories could not be denied, especially not those of a voice, in a tone exactly like this, saying not too long ago.....

You're the only friend I have.

His mouth opened, and some part of him wondered what would come out. Which part of him would come out. The study of a human mind- so thrown to the winds, taut control he prided himself on so ruthlessly shattered and trampled upon that it was like playing audience to one's own mind- stripped of the ability to do anything, just watch and be amazed.

"Could've fooled me." He heard, bouncing off the walls of the hallway. He watched, as one foot lifted over another, in tandem and contradiction, walking away from the door. He sensed, as dulled stabs of pain worked over his spine, with each step he took, distant enough to be happening to someone else. What he couldn't dissociate from was the weariness. The bone-deep tiredness that waft over his eyelids, pressed into his limbs and wouldn't let him sleep.

"Lily's resting in the next room, so keep your voice down." He took another step, and raised his hand to his mouth, jaw cracking open in a yawn that sent a flash of such vivid, blinding pain cracking through his skull that it might as well have split open. "Finish whatever you came here for, then carry yourself out of the door and do whatever it is that noble, self-righteous people do on Friday nights." His hands found the dining table and he leaned on it, closing his eyes. It wouldn't work. Nothing would, not until he lost the feeling that something was draining, leeching life out of his bones.

"Please go, Jack." Pride could go to hell. No energy for it, nor for anger. He said it, plain and earnest and weary. "I want to sleep."

But it won't come. It won't come.

He had turned to see that she had followed him in, but Jack could tell that Albus was not really looking at her. The way a dog refused to look straight into the face of an abusive owner, Albus looked at her without actually looking at her, without really seeing her. Which Jack found incredibly frustrating, because she was not certain she could say what she needed to say. It had been hard enough squeaking out the few words that had escaped her throat, but she would have loved to say more, to communicate with her eyes and face, rather than have to utter any words that would remind her of all the bad that had occurred and all the fears she had been yet to face.

It took him a long time to respond. His mouth opened but it was several moments before any sound actually came out of it. And, of course, it was something self-pitying and sarcastic. Classic Albus Potter sass. Jack could have punched him, right in the nose, had she not been uncomfortably aware of the fact that her own words could have been much more sincere. This right here was the problem. Both of them wanted more than they had, she knew that. They both wanted to actually connect with someone, and to find comfort and safety and support, but they were both to stubborn to admit they were terrified of just making everything worse. Of making it hurt more when it inevitably did not work out. So as much as she wanted to be angry with Albus Potter, she simply couldn’t.

Instead she said, “Well… it’s true.” Lame. A very lame statement, but it did not make it any less true. He retreated from her and her eyes remained heavily on his form, irritated at how much just being in his house made her long for a different time. Why was life so stupid like this? It made her so mad. She wanted to fully depend on herself, to fulfil herself, and to never need the comfort of someone else’s presence. However, she had finally come to terms with the idea that human beings needed other beings near them. Now was the problem of applying said knowledge.

He informed her that Lily was in the next room. “Oh… Sorry. She’s back, then.” She was glad to hear Lily was back. The Potter family had been fragmented for far too long. She and Lily had never been close, mostly because of the age difference, but Jack had always liked Lily. Then again, there had never been a Potter Jack hadn’t liked. She briefly wondered whether or not Albus had said anything to Lily about her, before realizing how stupid of a thought that was. That Albus would open up to his sister, or to anyone… and about her. She had briefly forgotten who she was dealing with.

His words were hostile and his tone was tired. Jack stared at him, her heart straining and creaking. If she had been lacking inhibitions, she would have gathered him into a hug, held him there so she could at least have that, if this was to be the end. But Jack was very aware of who she was and who she was dealing with, and it seemed that would not be happening. She shuffled her feet and finally dropped her gaze, her heart tearing in two as she realized she was going to do something she rarely did for anyone : she was going to obey.

She turned on her heel and walked back to the door, placing a hand on the knob when a thought struck her. She waved her wand and a CD appeared in the air before her. She turned and quickly walked the CD to the table, placing it on its top. “Track four. I don’t sing or play guitar, so… sorry. It’s the best I can do.” She walked back to the door and opened it, turning back. “I’ll be in Knockturn, if Fred comes around asking for me. I, um… I’m sorry. For being a burden. That’s not what I wanted.” She stepped out onto the doorstep. “Take care Albus.” And she closed the door behind her. She let out a sigh, wiped her eyes as tears attempted to gather within them, and then quickly disapparated for Knockturn.

((If Albus feels compelled to meet up with her, that’s cool. Or Fred can be back in Knockturn. Or whatever feels right))