Jam and Joy

Dory knew it was the silliest thing to be so hurt by. It made sense that Thai and Viola would need some time to adjust, and she had expected it. She knew it was no easy feat and she was so happy for them. She had just always imagined herself alongside them, ready to help. They knew how much she had always wanted a sister, how they had always felt like second parents. She thought this would be the experience to really make things clear. And she supposed that it had. They had their real daughter now, so they didn’t need her.

There. That was it. That was the thing that hurt so much, the words that had cut into her mind all summer, had propelled her to cry into a pillow and write letters she would never send. Because it was silly. And not fair. And a little odd. And not what they needed, not at all.

She didn’t want Jet to question her, didn’t want to have to put her stupid disappointment into more words than she had already. Jet didn’t need to know what extent Dory was pathetic. Let her guess.

But Jet didn’t ask any questions. In what felt like somewhat rare form, Jet ventured out. She... invited her over. She had never done that. No one from that side of her life had. They were always happy to see her but never seemed desirous to see more.

If Jet didn’t think it was a big deal, oh boy she was wrong.

Dory met her eyes, the tears soaking back, sliding away from view so she could beam with all the brightness she could muster. And, spoiler alert, it was a lot.

“That’d be fun. Really fun.”

She allowed the moment to hang between them, before pushing forward. Always onwards. “Speaking of next summer, do you know what you want to do when you graduate? It’s all I’m hearing the seventh years talk about. Must be exciting!”

The cloud passed, the sun re-established its rays, and the rains receded for now. Dory's happiness was palpable in a way many emotions weren't to Jet, who preferred distance and surface in her interactions. But she couldn't turn her back on Dory's feelings. Not now that she'd evidently hit the right combination of buttons to reset the conversation, to draw out the normal Dory at a trivial- to its payer, at least- price. On the surface, maybe it was. She'd cut some sort of bargain, made some sort of promise, and was nodding along as it was accepted, feeling out of her depth and disconcerted in a way that buried any relief at the successful mood change.

It wasn't about the invite. Or it was about the invite but lots more besides. Other people's conclusions. Their expectations and their disappointments. The parts of you they saw and the parts they didn't. The parts you hid from yourself.

Jet avoided Dory's gaze as she stretched her legs out, bringing her knuckles to her chest and letting their cracks fill the silence. Even keeping the moment elastic, stretching between them, she felt restless, contained. It was the onset of a familiar itch. Not one she could indulge around Dory- not one she'd ever wanted to indulge.

"Um... I don't know. Something History of Magic related, maybe. Research or something." She floundered for half a second, head too full of nothing to do much more than stare at her companion, brows creasing, and offer a rote "You?"

It was a small victory, and she figured it would be a bit weird to celebrate, even if she felt like it. She knew a lot of people and had quite a few friends, but had never quite made it into best mate territory. She dreamt of it almost as often as she dreamt of true love - merlin, she was sad, wasn't she?

"I bet you'd be good at that!" she chirped, happy to be back in the comfortable position of affirming her friend. The question was turned on her and she opened her mouth and realized she didn't know the answer. She closed her mouth thoughtfully, tongue poking at the back of her lips as she tilted her head. "Well-"

"Well, well," came a familiar drawl, and she turned to see Cosmo approaching. She felt the butterflies in her stomach that always visited when she heard the voice, and she smiled, waving at him. "Hi Cosmo! Do you want some pastries?"

"No thanks," he said, sitting across from the two girls, regarding them both. "Dory and I caught up yesterday, but I haven't had the pleasure yet, Jet. So let's hear all the hot gossip." He smirked.

In an interesting turn of events, Dory saw Cosmo coming before Jet did. The voice did function as a warning, though it wasn't that Jet hated the sound of it, exactly. The issue was more that Cosmo loved it- and other people seemed to, as well.

Any hope he'd walk on by was quashed by Dory's invitation. But she couldn't fault her the friendliness radiated at every passing body, not when she herself had just been caught in its orbit. It was a simple warmth, nothing like the slippery sociability that drew Cosmo closer and across from them despite only half a greeting. He sat down and she pulled her legs up, packing them closer to her torso to rest her elbows on her knees, restless hands finding occupation with each other.

If she'd fancied a cigarette before, she really needed one now.

"You'd know more about the hot gossip than me, Barbary," she intoned, his last name a subtle but purposeful line of distinction: your world, not mine. It was the closest she'd get to denying association outright. Not with Dory there, who saw both worlds as one, and that one as shared. This was how it went, toeing the line of politeness and disinterest, ever aware that her own rationality wouldn't accept smugness and a thirst for glory as sufficient reason to abandon all diplomacy. "Unless you're interested in the Natural History Museum's latest genetic ancestry exhibition."

If she'd been one to offer meaningless smiles, she'd have thrown him one. As it was, an expressionless gaze was the most he got. Neutrality was ever the recourse of the dispassionate.

“Who’s to say I wouldn’t be?” he said, arching an eyebrow and passing a cheeky grin to Dory, who turned pink as she bit back a smile and lifted another pastry to her lips. He could always count on her for her silent but wager affirmation.

Jet, on the other hand, stopped at silent. He knew that was her particular affectation, the shtick she maintained so as to keep people guessing. It was a good one, it had certainly reeled him in all those years ago. He was still mining, trying to find the truth at the bottom of the mystery, though he was secretly worried there would be nothing of interest for him once he did. That deep under the misanthropy and cynicism, Jet was like Dory, or other girls he found average and boring. At least those girls would offer him adoration.

“We’re just talking about our plans for the future,” Dory said, covering her mouth with her hand as she swallowed down the last of a scone. “Jet said something history related. I honestly don’t know yet. I’m not sure I’m good enough at anything.”

He turned a warm smile on her. “You’ll figure it out. You’ve got some time. I’m just now starting to circle something. I’m not sure yet, though, so I’m putting my theory to the test. I’m going to be launching a little debate club.”

Dory brightened. "Wow! That's a really great idea. You'd be smashing at that, too. You, too, actually, Jet," she said, looking to her other friend. "You should join once Cosmo gets it going."

"Yeah I know the guy running it, I can get you in," Cosmo said, smirking at Jet, while Dory laughed at his joke.

Playing devil's advocate was such a habitual Cosmo move she wouldn't have responded either way, even if it hadn't been an excuse for the half-arsed flirting Dory ate up every time, pink and earnest.

He'd always had a knack for opportune comments. Her natural reticence was no match for his leisurely confidence, the easy camaraderie. She'd have stopped at you'll figure it out and been happy to fade into silence. But that was Cosmo: quick to reassure others of their potential, quicker to redirect the focus to his own promise.

It wasn't a fair assessment, as there was nothing to indicate he didn't genuinely care for Dory. But even that was hardly less worrying- caring for people didn't make them immune to your faults, just created an illusion of harmlessness. The palliness and casual generosity were a part of the illusion, this aura of certainty, of intimacy, of trust me I know what I'm doing, and it'll be our little secret. That illusion had grown tired around the time she had, too worn too early.

Her hand had been inching towards her bag as they spoke, setting it on legs that were stretched out again to rummage in one of the side pockets absently. Not even Dory's enthusiasm could rouse a show of interest, the quick glance up and between them for her benefit, the flat response for his.

"Not sure I can afford that favour." If she'd had a penny for every time she'd heard that exact offer, the rumours of wealth would be justified. Orsino's voice floating down the hall, words tripping and sliding over themselves, making promises he couldn't afford to keep to people he couldn't leave alone. It wasn't even an illusion, just the way of the world- someone knew someone who knew someone who had something you wanted, even if you didn't know it yet. The draw of exclusivity was a potent one, but once ugly reality set in it left a bitter aftertaste.

She suspected even ugly reality was another premise for Cosmo, something he could dress appealingly and wind pointless arguments around all to enjoy the sound of his own voice. It wasn't the first time he'd made grand claims, circling the future like a shark only to be exposed as a catfish when he got too close. But that, too, was unfair. Debating wasn't piano or quidditch. It was fitting, intellectual, respectable, she knew- and yes, exclusive. Deliberate. Theory + test = result. Even Jet couldn't fault that logic- nor could she fully decipher it.

She withdrew her hand, search abandoned, and fixed her gaze back on Cosmo with the tinge of a frown, appraisal nudging slanted brows closer together.

"Debating what?"

Dory struggled to keep up around Jet and Cosmo. They said so little but she suspected there was much more between their sparse words, but she could never quite put her finger on it. She had once suspected the two were secretly... something. Something more that she would ever be with either of them. But the thought caused a pang of hurt, of loneliness, and (if she were truly honest with herself) jealousy - so she put it out, refusing to let hypotheticals ruin not one but two of her most precious friendships.

Besides, neither had ever given her reason to not trust them. They had adopted her into their midst; the child of the former manager was hardly a person of importance, but they had never made her feel less than, and she had repaid them in love and loyalty. It was a meager offering, but they accepted it without complaint, and she was still met with kindness. Where she couldn't trust herself, she had to trust them.

Dory shot Jet a look as her friend rifled through her bag, offering a look of confusion as a means of help, a what do you need? Jet's nonchalance in the presence of Cosmo further impressed upon Dory the great thoughts and feelings that must stir beneath the seventh year's mind. She found herself incapable of anything but rapt attention when Cosmo spoke - his elocution was second only to the philosophies underneath that she did not quite grasp but had a sense of, and she felt any moment not drinking him in was a wasteful misstep. At least, it was for her. She had no philosophies, no plans - Jet's must have been amazing to be bored of Cosmo.

Cosmo tilted his chin under Jet's scrutiny. He had stood before criticism his entire life, and he thought he was well adjusted to it. He liked it, actually. A critical eye was likely to find imperfections, even in the most pristine subject. It made it all the more satisfying when he stood up to the inspection, deemed Appropriate or Admirable. He hadn't gotten such a grade from Jet, at least not verbally, but the anticipation certainly increased the excitement.

"The important subjects of our time," Cosmo said. " I think it's important we don't stop ourselves from difficult conversations. Debate clubs that start and end debating school uniforms and coursework loads never prepare their students to have their perspectives radically challenged. If you can argue for something you don't believe, or against something you do, especially if it's an exceptionally challenging topic... well, that's where real greatness is born."

Dory was staring in mild awe. "That's... amazing. It's going to be fantastic."

Jet was not exactly what one could call 'exacting'. Rarely was she invested enough in others' work or behaviour to raise a criticism, or even to look closely enough to form one. Her connection to people was a tenuous, flimsy tether, spools upon spools coiled at her hip, endlessly loosened and expanded, with any cautionary tug yet to be felt. This withdrawal ad infinitum coloured her every interaction, but those with tighter, firmer ties did not often recognise it for what it was (detachment) rather than what it seemed (self-assurance). Just as others misconstrued her own foibles, Jet too looked upon people indistinctly, from a great distance, blurred by the acres of separation yet to be retrenched. Hope appeared as inexperience, ambition appeared as self-importance, and the benefit of the doubt was always, always naive.

The one thing whose contours never seemed to distort was deception. Even from the furthest, remotest distance (where she stood now, a dot against the horizon, squinting back at Cosmo), its every detail was as familiar to her as Orsino's voice making a promise with no hope of keeping it (that is: lying). The shades of dishonesty, duplicity, dissimulation were particularly well-suited to securing a high- but heights came in many forms, and some climbs were more damaging than others.

Jet was not exacting, but nor was she indifferent to the rocky rhythms of the world she inhabited, which teetered eternally on the edge of security and cataclysm. The smaller confines of this castle, which boiled over with tensions stoked by blind bigotry and tired prejudice, a reel of ancient rivalries repeating in ancient halls. It pulled that endless, untethered thread to a start. Or the twangs of one, at least.

Who could say what caused this particular halt to her wanderings? The vestiges of a long-dead, maligned mother's blood, or the lingering traces of a too-recent, too-bloody past? The efforts of people like Jack Dyllan, who never seemed to lose their fire even when facing a deluge- people who were easily less of a pain than the alternative, but still lesser in general by all the measures society applied? The influence of people like Dory and Thai, who didn't dwell on the darkness of the world and instead inhabited its light- who deserved it, and whose goodwill was too often taken advantage of by people like Orsino, like the band, like Cosmo, like her?

The benefit of the doubt was always, always naive. But Dory had given it, and her rose-coloured glasses, like her rosy cheeks, were Cosmo's to shatter or shield.

"Exceptionally challenging topics," she repeated, drumming a hand on her thigh in lieu of another fruitless search or untimely exit. "Like the Statute's dress guidelines?" Her tone was still neutral, still non-committal. She wasn't indifferent, but that was still many yards from inflamed. Hair brushed elbow as she tilted her head to the side, the inquiry stilling restless fingers and narrowing contemplative eyes. "Or... like goblin rights?"

Every Slytherin was well-acquainted with talk of real greatness, the holy grail of Salazar's House. Fool's gold, like all fabled treasures. But as any historian knew, men would fight wars to win it. Men wouldn't hesitate to start them.