Meet the Robins

At Gareth and Desdemona Robins’:

“I swear …” Desdemona started, setting down her teacup with determination. “I never …” And she wavered, picking up her cup again, but staring at it with an overwrought expression on her face. A moment of silence passed. Upon this realisation, Gareth looked up from his magazine, only to find his wife’s question for his attention to the matter she thought sufficiently severe to bring up for three consecutive days and nights. Now, this was a patient and loving man. It was a real pity that the same could not be said for his daughter and his son-in-law. Theirs had been a disastrous marriage that led to self-interested pursuits, at the expense of their only son. The marriage between Gareth and Desdemona, however, was much to be envied about. It was certainly a lot of work, but at least they both wanted it to work, and so they worked diligently at it. Holes were mended, not abandoned. And so, the old man looked at his wife with an accommodating expression of attention on his face. Then, setting his magazine down on the dining table, he removed his reading glasses and placed it atop the magazine. Desdemona took these to be signs of encouragement, so she pressed on.

“You must see it from my point of view now, Garry.” She returned her teacup to the table. “One week is too long for a teenage boy to be cooped up in his own room. And it’s Christmas, for Chrissakes! He should be going out with his friends, if not us, to the mall. No one’s turned up at our place either. I did tell him repeatedly that he should ask some friends over for tea.” The crease between the old lady’s eyebrows deepened. “The boy is terribly unresponsive. Look, I know, I know.” She cut off what her husband seemed to want to start about. “I know Dean has gone on and did what Demi did. Irresponsible fools. I know the boy’s not taking all of it well. But we’re here, aren’t we? He’s got his Nanner and his Papper!” There was a glint of amusement in the old man’s eyes as he watched his wife suffer yet another anxiety about their grandson. “We’re here more than Dean and Demi has ever been for him, too! I suppose …” The old lady shook her head, then picked up her cup of tea and drank the last of it. Still, her burden was heavy as ever.

“Dessie, love,” Gareth finally started. “You’ve got to give the boy time. It’s not easy. We’re just his grandparents. He’s lost both his parents in a year! And, it’s not like they’re not alive. He’s old enough to hurt over the idea that they didn’t want him. His own parents.” The patience in the old man’s voice was ever so present. “He should get up and do something, shouldn’t he?” Desdemona started again, as if she had not heard her husband. “I’ve said that he could come along with me to tea with the other ladies at the Book Club. He could even go shopping with his Nanner!” The old man chuckled. “Dessie, I doubt any of that would interest him. You must remember; he’s a boy. He’s not going to want to do all of that with you, love.” Desdemona began to look offended. “What’s wrong with what I do?!” But before Gareth could defend the intent in his words, she went on. “Take him to the pub then! Do what you lot like to do. Though I reckon it’s healthier for you to take him along to work. He’ll be a lot of good help, what with that back of yours. Then, maybe, for once, I don’t have to rub their back of yours with the ointment again. We can take a night’s break, out of the rest of our lives.” Then, quickly, she saved it: “It’s not that I don’t enjoy doing those back rubs for you, my love. I just want Trenty to do something with himself! Let him do the gardens with you, love.”

Trent could hear the mumbles of conversation from his room. The house was that small. Cosy, but small. Yet, he didn’t care to strain for a word. Instead, he stared blankly at the ceiling, only desiring for a cigarette desperately. Unfortunately, it was not allowed in the house, nor was he even allowed one. He loved his grandparents dearly, but this annoyed him to what felt like a limitless extent. He knew that he could possibly get around the rule with Garry. It was Nan that had a problem with it. It was too bad that the boy would still rather rot in the hammock that was done up for him upon arrival to the house by none other than his grandfather. He hated the world and all of its contents. Instead, he had chosen, and will continue choosing, to stare bitterly at the ceiling, and angst away at it. There was nothing else he thought about, other than his pathetic life. After all, the events and contents of it were enough to keep him entertained for … what, forever? Yes, he thought sourly. Forever. It was a wonder that he had not yet died from the poison of his circumstances. On top of that, the lack of nicotine was making the boy increasingly restless and irritable. No doubt, Nan was at the worst end of them.

“FUCK OFF!”

The resounding slams of doors made Elliot Finnigan pause on the gravel path of the house that he had moved into with his sister and his mother the summer prior when their lives had taken a turn for the worst and continued on a rollercoaster that only seemed to have one destination: the lava-filled depths of hell. The young man sighed heavily and bent down to scoop up the bottle of milk that had been left by the front door by the sheepish milkman who had been present for the beginning of the row which Elliot had luckily missed – the result of attending a party that had left him feeling more hung-over than he had ever felt in his life but was, thankfully, something easily remedied by sobering and pepper-up potions. The young man had returned to the house via the Knight Bus and now he wondered whether the erratic vehicle would return in order to save him from what waited behind the stark, white front door.

“Good Morning, Elliot.”

A warm, elderly-sounding voice shook the boy out of his reverie and Elliot turned, reaffirming his grip on the neck of the milk bottle as he felt it begin to slip from his grasp, to face his next door neighbour, Joyce Hunt, who looked ready to start the day with her scarf around her hair and her dark leather bag – which Millie suspected to have a brick in it from the heaviness of the accessory – in hand. Elliot smiled wearily at the woman and tucked the newspaper he held in his hand under his arm so that it was free to shake in hers. She smiled at him and shook his hand readily, completely oblivious to the boy’s lack of desire to talk and, seemingly, the argument that was going on inside the house that they were stood in front of; albeit on different sides of the fence.

“Good Morning, Mrs Hunt. Off to book club?” Elliot inquired dutifully before retracting his hand in order to take the newspaper in hand once more. The elderly woman shook her head and Elliot’s eyebrows rose as he realised she did in fact want him to guess but the first one, regrettably, was wrong. “Bingo?” Round two. Another shake of the head. Elliot bit his lip. “Could it be...knitting club?” Round three. An incredulous raise of a silver eyebrow and a snort of embarrassment from the younger of the two. “Alright, I’m stumped. What do old people like to do, Joyce? Seriously, I mean...what do you lot do? Isn’t it, like, a requirement to be ridiculously boring?”

Joyce laughed. It was a strong sound for such a frail old lady and Elliot was taken aback for a moment before finding himself laughing with her also as, meanwhile, above them doors continued to slam and there was more screaming and shouting with varying examples of the Finnigan ability to use the Queen’s English. Joyce leaned over the fence, her gloved hand outstretched to pat Elliot on the cheek. He looked at her, slightly bewildered, but returned her smile all the same before leaning forward at her gesture to listen to what she had to say. “I’m going sky-diving.” And with that, the woman pushed her bag up into the crook of her elbow, patted the boy on the cheek again and toddled off down the path and onto the pavement before striding up the road to the bus stop where from there it was only a few changes until she reached her destination.

Shaking his head, Elliot stepped up onto the porch and fiddled with the keys, letting himself in at the prime moment – just in time for what he assumed to be a priceless vase to come hurling towards him. The boy gave a shout and he ducked, opening the door wider for the vase to sail through. He heard the following smash and winced as he realised that no magical dealer would want it with the trace of Reparo on it and he looked up to see an incensed Lavender already wielding another piece of decor which she intended to hurl at her only daughter, the daughter in question braced and ready to jump out of the way.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake. Aren’t you through with this yet?” Elliot exclaimed, setting both the newspaper and the bottle of milk down on the hall table before lifting his wand from his pocket. “Expelliarmus!” The vase was sent whirling from Lavender’s hands and a second spell set it down on top of the book case in the living room. “Enough, Lavender. Don’t you have some married man’s bed to go and warm? Get yourself out of the house, please. Clearly close quarters is driving you both do-lally. I’m taking Mills out. Can you find yourself someone to amuse you for the day or do I have to phone someone?”

---

“Since when did you grow bollocks? Did I miss your puberty or something? Hell, did you ever have a squeaky, squeaky voice?”

Millie looked over at Elliot and held her hands out for the cigarette packet that he was sneakily tucking away into the pocket of his jacket. She cleared her throat pointedly and Elliot smirked before tossing the packet in her direction, the girl smiling in response as if to say: ‘that’s right’. She lifted one of the tobacco sticks from the pack and clicked her fingers rapidly for the lighter that was soon thrown her way in exchange for the cigarette packet which, this time, Elliot succeeded in tucking back into his jacket. Millie lit the cigarette with one ignition of the lighter but the wind soon put it out, causing her to turn around and try, with her body acting as a shelter, to relight it.

Thankfully, the pair soon made it to the alley where an old boot was waiting for them and for all of those that lived outside of the city. Throughout the country there were Portkeys waiting for those that wished to travel in specified places. Every student was given a timetable at the end of term and so Millie and Elliot caught the twenty past eleven Portkey into London where from there they walked the mile or so to where the latter claimed Trent’s grandparents’ house would be. Millie merely enjoyed her cigarette and the occasionally slug of Firewhisky from the flash that had once been their father’s. Elliot merely scrolled his phone, something Lavender had bought him, and looked about, muttering to himself in reference to the location of their house.

In the end, Millie grew bored and she noticed an elderly man in his front garden cutting his hedges into shape. Stepping off of the pavement without looking both ways, Millie sidled up to the man, chucking her cigarette into the gutter before waving in his direction. The man brought his cutters away from the hedge and looked at the young woman dubiously but returned the smile that she offered him all the same.

“Sorry to bother you.” Millie began. “But you wouldn’t happen to know where Mister and Missus Robins live do you?”

The elderly man nodded and gestured further up the road with his cutters. “Number seventeen, lass. Don’t forget to take that young nipper with you. He looks right lost to me. Say, you two twins?”

Millie smiled brightly and nodded enthusiastically at the man in response. “Yes, sir, we are.” Millie turned a little to look at Elliot who was still pacing up and down with his phone. “I’m not overly fond of these electrical things. They’re a load of old rubbish if you ask me. Utterly useless.” Millie shrugged her shoulders before looking back at the man. “Thank you. Have a nice day – oh, and Merry Christmas!”

Jogging across the road, Millie joined her brother once more and pulled him by the hood of his jacket, starting down the road at a comfortable run that quickly sped up and became something of a competition that left the pair breathless by the time they got to the Robins’ house. Millie wore a triumphant smile on her face despite the way her chest heaved and she wheezed out her proclamation of success before rising back up to her full height and jumping onto the porch where she rang the bell with two short, sharp bursts.

“If it’s not the right house, we’re going to have to stay for tea, you realise.” Elliot murmured, coming up behind her, now sounding a little bit better though still worse for wear.

“Probably.” Millie allowed before turning at the sound of the opening door. “Hello!” She thrust her hand out between herself and the person, her face lighting up with a winning smile that Elliot hastily washed onto his face also. “I’m Millie Finnigan! This is my brother, Ellie.” Elliot opened his mouth to correct his sister but was not quite quick enough as the girl continued on. “Would this happen to be the Robins residence? You see, we’re looking for Trentypoo. Er. Trent. We’re looking for Trent. Is he home? We’re friends from school.” Millie continued to grin.

“I’m Elliot.” The boy behind her added lamely, shrugging his shoulders as if there was nothing left to be said; and really, there wasn’t.

For all his life, or for as far back as he could remember, Millie and Ellie Finnigan had lived just down the road from him. At home, Trent was the only child. Dean and Demelza were too busy with themselves for more. There was barely space for childhood in the house, too. Although the young Thomas boy was a bubbly one, one who begged for stories, who made up stories in all the space and corners of the house, and one who implored his father to take him flying, Trenton Thomas the teenager was barely a shadow of his days as a toddler, when he first befriended the Finnigan twins. It was not just that no one pandered to his fancies as a boy. In fact, there were strict house rules in a home that was hardly made for a child. There were rules on noise levels, speed of movements, and times of seeking the comforts in the arms of a parental. For, as early as he could remember, there were a lot of reprimanding in the house of the Thomases. He had always spoke too loudly, got too excited, wanted too much attention, was too much trouble. At a very young age, Trent had learnt that any words or movements from him could cause a lot of trouble with the adults, who was generous in sending him to his naughty corner. And because the little boy wanted to play, eat, or sleep whenever he wanted to, he did everything he could to align and reign himself in to cater to his parents' wishes.

Yet, it seemed, he had failed; and fatally, at that. What was it about himself that was so much of a trouble to his parents? He just wanted some time and attention. He wanted a normal family, the kinds he saw on television programmes and in movies; although, granted, he did think they were impossible, what with fiction and all barely near his reality. The absence of his present parents, then, made the toddler look elsewhere for that bit of acceptance, away from the home that never gave it. In fact, over the years, Trent had always much rather prefer Seamus. He would watch the older man bestow the attention that Millie enjoyed, looking in admiration at the scenes of fatherhood that he never knew. Apart from that, Millie and Ellie Finnigan were really the family that he never had. Sure, there were his grandparents, but they didn't live down the road, nor did Dean and Demelza took it upon themselves to visit or invite them all over often.

It was awfully unfortunate, then, that Dean and Demelza had, consecutively, left their son. Perhaps the only silver lining was that Demelza had expressed her intentions to her parents, earlier, who had disapproved vehemently, but who lost out to their daughter's selfish pursuits. They had expressed every intention to take the boy in as their own, and to love him like he was never really, but it was only when Dean left, that they were really allowed to. And as much as the old couple would rather see Trent with his parents, they were secretly happy that the boy was now left in their charge. For one, they could see to it that he was properly fed, cleansed, and sheltered, the way a child should be. In addition to that, they could have a child for company in their late years. And perhaps they could really do the former. There was no doubt about it, as a matter of fact. Gareth and Desdemona had always prided themselves in the way they had kept their house together, like their relationship, when so many things in the world had and was falling apart. Yet, even as they craved for the boy's company, Trent spared them close to none.

For a week or so now, even as Christmas lights were being put up and the streets became more and more festive, Trenton Thomas sulked in the hammock of his new room. Admittedly, he was thankful now that he didn't have to worry about being hungry anymore these days. Meals were cooked daily by an old woman who took pride in her food. Even if he was told to help with the dishes, the boy didn't mind much. Yet, the only times he would sit with his grandparents were mealtimes, the times when Nan would walk in to check on him, and the goodnight kisses and cuddles that the old couple insisted that was done with their grandson every evening before they retired to bed. The times of checking in on him was really defeating the initial purpose of their decision to have their room downstairs, to avoid the stairs that were beginning to cause some trouble to their ailing knees. Still, Trent hid away in his sanctuary for most of the day and night.

Trent rubbed his palms against his bare torso, lost in thought, even when the door bell rang twice. Suspended in his hammock with nothing more than his underwear on, he listened to the sounds of the radio that emanated from his laptop. It was not a wonder to find the boy with muggle technology. After all, just as Dean had a very muggle upbrining, he had given his son the same too, bar the parental obligations. Trent swung ever so slightly as he thought about the lyrics of a new song that was overplayed on the radio, but was really something that struck a chord with him. Downstairs, Garry had chuckled when he saw his wife scoot happily to the door. She was always one who got excited about visitors, even if they were selling something. It was a real danger, actually, seeing that she would almost always invite them in for tea. Anyone who wanted to hurt her could do so way too easily. The old man's advise for her to keep up her guard often fell on deaf ears. It was especially when she was not alone in the house that she was almost abandon in her glee to greet whoever was at the door. And when she did so, this time, she almost squealed with excitement. Children!

Well, not really. After all, the Finnigans twins were already well into, and almost done with , puberty. Yet, if she could still see her grandson as Baby Trenty, she could most definitely think the two standing at the front door now, children. The old lady's heart warmed, already, to the winning smiles of the twins. She was, in fact, ready to buy whatever they wanted to sell, cookies or whatnots. One can only imagine how much further her delight was taken to, upon Millie's introduction. "Baby Trenty has friends!" She almost made this like an announcement. Then turning her head back to the house. "Garry! Love! Trent has friends!" She really did not realise the implications of what she was saying. Instead, she was only too happy to open the door wider, and gestured for the children to enter the house. Garry, having stood up from the old lady's excitement, made his way slowly to the living room, which really was just a few steps away from the kitchen counter. "Now," Nan started as she rounded the three. "This is Millie," she pointed, and this is "Ellie", of which she reached up to squeeze his cheeks. "What a beauty!" There was a glint of amusement in Garry's eyes, who the old lady was introducing to the teenagers now. With that done, she turned away from the group and began to call for Trent.

"People have come to see you, Trenty!" The boy squeezed his eyes shut again, annoyed at the name that his grandmother was adamant on calling him by. No, he did not want to see anyone. Whoever it was could not matter enough. He was hiding, did Nan not already realise this?! He threw the Quaffle in his hand towards the wall, and the thud almost reverberated around the room. Yet, he moved not. Nan called out two more times, then decided to rest. She was going to serve tea first. Garry, on the other hand, stood up and apologised, making his way to the door with a hat in his hand. It was time for his Sunday Bridge Club. Nan almost strode to the door to receive her goodbye kiss, patted her husband's chest, and allowed her husband to leave only after she ascertained that he was going to be home for dinner, what with so many children in their house for the day. With that, she then ensured that Millie and Elliot were settled in the living room, and took off to make the tea. The old lady allowed the girl to enjoy a cup of tea, talked about Hogwarts, before she set her teacup down. "My baby is a very sad boy," she started with a voice that was now laced with disappointment, speaking on what was sure to annoy Trent if he was present. "We never brought up Demelza to be this way," she continued. "But, you know, children." She sighed. "You lose them the moment they leave your body." She shook her head. "You can only choose to love them." Another sigh. "The choices they make are their own." Then, with a tremble in her voice, she admitted: "I just don't want to see my baby like this, you know? Garry doesn't seem to understand how worried I am. Trenty has not left the house since he arrived from Dean's, that horrible man." There was clear prejudice in her voice.

Yet, before the old lady could go on with what was sure to promise some kind of sobbing, she turned to Milllie with hope in her eyes. "Perhaps, perhaps you could try to go talk to him? Maybe he needs someone besides his Nanner to see him. I don't know what to do with that boy anymore." She almost implored Millie. "Be a good girl, love, and do Nanner a favour. See to the boy, will you? And oh!" Dessie stood up abruptly, not minding her bones. "Bring some tea to Trenty, will you? I'll get you both cups." She rushed to the kitchen and was back quickly with a new pot of tea and two teacups on a tray. "There, careful." She handed them to the girl. "Thank you, darling." Then, turning to Elliot, she beamed. "Would you like to see our garden?"

“He’s quite lucky, really.” Elliot commented, his eyes flicking from the front door to the potted plants that were dotted about the porch. Millie found herself looking too and she took a moment to turn around, eyeing carefully the world around her, not missing the sheet ice that was spread across the pavement on the other side of the road. It really was a nice location, a beautiful place to retire, she supposed. It wasn’t that far from a park and there was a nice stretch of water a short drive away which would be perfect for walks. Millie knew what her brother meant when he said that Trent was lucky. The loss of both parents was far better than losing the one that meant the most and being lumped with the one they’d been glad to be rid of. For the twins there were no grandparents to step in and save them. It was not that they didn’t have any – just that they didn’t have any that cared.

Elizabeth and George Brown were as self-indulgent and selfish as their daughter, perfectly happy to dole out money here and there so that she could have the best but never ever for their grandchildren. Well, not for Millie and Elliot, at least. Though George was the more accommodating of the two, Elizabeth was incredibly highly strung and the pair together never saw anything other than their angelic daughter so there was no hope in hell for Millie and Elliot to be helped by them. Jane and Doug Finnigan weren’t much cop either, though. Having fallen out with Seamus years before, the pair were as aware of their grandchildren’s lives as Elizabeth and George were. So really, Trent had no idea of his fortune. None at all.

When the door opened, the pair wore their prized and perfected “love me” smiles. Of course, they did not predict the scream-like announcement that yes, indeed, Trenton Thomas had friends. Millie’s face broke into a genuine smile of absolute wonder and she couldn’t help but laugh as the elderly woman hurried the pair inside. Millie found herself in a rather blue room suddenly and the warmth that engulfed her made her begin to grow warm under the layers of clothes she wore. Yet she felt rude for wanting to remove some of the articles and instead stayed beside her brother who she knew to be inwardly dying from not being able to take his shoes off at the door. If there was one thing that Seamus had succeeded in doing then that was making sure his children had manners.

At the sight of a second person, Millie’s mood jumped even higher. She thrust her hand out to shake Trent’s grandfather’s hand and smiled brightly at the wry expression the man had on his face. Oh, he was very amused and at the sight of the way the old lady squeezed her brother’s cheeks, Millie could only just stifle her laughter. She smirked a little bit in the direction of the old man and shook her head before looking over to see the old lady begin to call for Trent.

Millie exchanged a quick, worried glance with Elliot who merely shrugged his shoulders in response before leaning down to unlace his shoes, finally giving in and taking them off before creeping over to set them down on the mat so as to avoid mud being trekked through the house. Millie decided to do the same and hauled the boots off of her feet that seemed to dwarf the little pump-looking things that Elliot had been wearing. The pair then wriggled their toes, their feet grateful for the freedom, and then hurried back into the living room where they promptly peeled off their layers and sat themselves down on the couch feeling mightily imposing and awkward.

“I need a fag,” Elliot complained quietly, pulling one of the pillows out from underneath him. He turned it over in his grasp and made a face at what he perceived to be the gaudiness of the object before setting it back down. “Don’t suppose there are any ash trays about, do you?”

“Please, Ellie,” Millie scoffed playfully. “You’re too ickle-wickle to smoke!” And teasingly, just to wind him up even more, she reached over to squeeze his cheek, ignoring the death glare that he shot at her.

Nanna Robins returned and busied herself with making tea, leaving the children to sit awkwardly in her living room, idly looking around at everything they had. She’d long since left Trent to his own devices, the boy seemingly having no intention of coming downstairs, and Millie found herself wondering whether the trip had been for nought. Millie looked down at the feel of fingers on the back of her hand and caught Elliot’s hand in hers. She gave it a quick squeeze, one he returned, and Millie felt a warm spread of calm wash over her. Elliot removed his hand after a moment and began to busy himself with the cotton that was coming away on his jumper. Millie leaned over and squeezed his upper arm quickly in thanks and then turned to see Nanna Robins return.

It was over cups of tea that the pair were probed about Hogwarts. Millie allowed Elliot to speak as he had a lot more to say in the way of academic achievement. Millie had nothing really to boast about. She spent most of her time in Divination drinking tea and smoking pot – that was not an achievement by any stretch of the imagination. No, Millie merely drank her tea in silence and allowed Elliot to talk about his success in all the classes he took – especially Alchemy though he was quick to amend that he’d only had a taster on it the year before but now he was taking it he really was excelling. Millie could only just about stop herself from rolling her eyes at him but she didn’t realise until the spotlight was on her how glad she had been to have Nanna Robins talking to Elliot.

Blinking rapidly, Millie opened her mouth as if to interject but quickly closed her mouth, allowing the old lady to speak. Millie brought the cup down away from her lips and caught her lower lip between her teeth as worry wrote itself across her forehead. Elliot’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion and he leaned forward.

“We didn’t know he wasn’t at home until the other day.” He explained carefully. “Damn near broke the back door trying to get in before we realised he couldn’t be in there. He’s not responsive but he’s not as bad as ignoring us banging on the door. It wasn’t until Millie broke the plant pot in the garden-” at this the girl turned beet red “-that a neighbour poked their head over the fence and told us that no one had been in there since the eighteenth. He didn’t tell us what was going on...”

Millie bit her lip and watched as the woman rose, returning with another tray and Millie got up to meet her, taking the tray from her and smiling a little before carefully treading out of the living room towards the staircase, leaving Elliot with Nanna Robins so that they could enjoy the garden. Millie did not know whether she wanted to see Trent. Really, it was a stupid thing to think. She did want to see him but she didn’t want to if he was upset and if he didn’t want the company – which clearly he seemed to want to avoid – then she didn’t want to impose. She would hate to exacerbate the problem. So it was for that very reason that just outside his room, Millie stalled and wondered whether she was better off wimping out and going back downstairs.

But Millie was a Gryffindor and therefore she had to be brave. The girl did not burst into Trent’s room, though. She instead merely crept in, hoping that maybe he wouldn’t notice her. The room was a mess, though she knew from the state of the house that the mess could only be his doing and not his grandmother’s. Millie paused in the doorway.

“I, uh...I brought tea,” She offered by way of introduction.

The peace that launched itself after his grandmother's voice attempted to penetrate his shell, again, played itself quite nicely with the hum from the radio. Trent let his mind idle along with the meaningless words and tunes, now, still swinging ever so gently in his hammock. He had half a mind to get down from it to go for one of his grandfather's guitars. Perhaps he could while away his time with them; finally learn an instrument and pursue something he had mused about before. Then, maybe, he could play a thing or two for Millie. Millie? Trent stalled in his thoughts at the reminder of her. It was at that moment, too, that he felt the pangs of missing her. In all of the pain he had drowned in for the week, he had thought very little of her. Yet, now that he finally was doing that in a calmer state of mind, the waves of longing began to wash over him. The last time that the couple had met was when time seemed to stop for perfection, which was a thing he found when he had the girl in his arms. Now, though, the holiday seemed so far in the past. He hadn't, too, written to Millie about the recent changes that added to the drama in his family life. He didn't think anyone was going to be interested; not even her.

Trent desperately needed a cigarette now. Perhaps tonight. Tonight, when Nanna and Gary have gone to Snoozeland. It was unfortunate that his grandparents slept on the first floor. This made it difficult to sneak out when he wanted to. Yet, he really needed to, today. He could attempt to sneak out to buy a pack. He still had the remnants of money left from working at Quidditch Supplies. And just when he had set his mind to it, there was a voice. Trent jumped in shock. Whoever it was made no sound whatsoever. Or, at least, he didn't hear her coming up. The next thing he knew, the boy had his bare back against the hard floor. He groaned when pain shot through the side of his head, a consequence of having collided with the edge of the bed when he fell from the hammock. Trent couldn't even be bothered to get himself clothed. Instead, he began to rub at his head to calm the throbbing, steadying himself to respond to the one who dared enter his sanctuary.

"Mills?" The boy was caught between surprise and the sensations in his head. He did relax though, oddly enough. Things had gotten far less awkward between the two friends after their time at Millie's Uncle's cottage. Sure, they were still friends in name. However, there was something more established then, unspoken as it is, that had bought some sort of assurance for the boy. He was less resistant, now, to the idea of loving the girl he had grown up with. With that, Trent hung his head back, groan again at the strong throbs in his head when he did so, before falling back flat on against the floor. "Mills ..." He repeated. This time, he didn't ask for her. He called out for her instead. He wanted her in now. Maybe she would know how to make his head feel better. Maybe she would know how to make everything else feel better. There was no one else now, he thought, who might have a shot at that venture.

The tray of tea was surprisingly quite heavy but not so surprising due to the lack of strength in the girl’s arms. She lowered the tray a little, resting it on her hips, and looked at Trent’s form imploringly, mentally urging him to get up and notice her and have a cup of tea with her and smile and accept the cuddles and be happy. But instead, he was more startled and the sudden movement made the hammock swing violently, tipping the boy out onto the hard floor of his room with a bang that made Millie flinch. A gasp involuntarily, but understandably, ripped from her throat and she hurried forward, stowing the tea on his rather bare, empty bed before dropping herself onto the floor beside Trent.

“I’m sorry!” She exclaimed, reaching forward to place her hand under his head, her palm acting like something of a cushion so as to prevent him from hurting himself should he drop his head back unceremoniously onto the floor once more. Millie’s other hand came to rest on his chest and she nibbled on her bottom lip as her eyes searched his face for signs that he was alright. “Merlin.” She whispered, shaking her head. “Are you alright, Trentypoo? I’m sorry. I should have knocked or something but I didn’t want you to tell me to go away. I...” Millie frowned a little, her face brightening not a moment later as she remembered what she’d brought with her. “I brought tea! I brought tea. That’s what I brought. Two sugars, right? Um. Yeah. C’mon, let’s get you up.”

Millie curled her hands around Trent’s larger ones and pulled at him, hoping he’d move at least a little bit. Once he was at least willing to move, Millie pulled the pillow down off of the hammock and straightened out his duvet on the bed, piling up the pillows against the headboard so he could sit up but at least be comfortable. She gestured to the bed, her expression not one that expected any argument, and then fiddled with the teapot and such, quickly preparing tea for him before leaving one for herself to get a little bit cooler. Then, cradling the cup to make sure nothing spilt, Millie sat herself down on the bed next to Trent and held the cup out for him.

“Your nana is really nice, you know.” Millie told him gently. “Really friendly. She wants you to be happy, Trent. You do know that, right?” Millie leaned forward a little and brushed her lips against his temple. “She told us what happened...” Millie sat back and bit her lip hesitantly before inquiring quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve... well, I don’t know what I could’ve done but something at least. I...” Millie stopped herself and shook her head. “It’s not your fault, Trent.” Millie lifted her eyes back to him. “I don’t know whether that’s what you’re thinking but if you are then please, don’t. It’s not. It really isn’t. I...I love you, Trent. I do. I really do. I don’t want you to feel like you’re completely alone. We’re here. Everyone. Me. Elliot. Your gran...gramps. Though, granted...your nan seems to be enamoured with my brother...I mean she can keep him, by all means, I don’t want him..” Millie trailed off, smiling conspiratorially at Trent. “I’ve missed you.” She admitted to him, after a moment, wondering whether anything she’d said was appropriate. She wanted to reassure him but she wasn’t sure whether she’d succeeded in that at all.

A sense of relief came in the form of Millie's smell. Trent could almost feel himself smile as the girl drew near, before feeling her touch on him. There was comfort now. It wasn't that he didn't want the solace at all. He was just terribly fussy with who it came from. And truly, he was grateful when she came. One would have expected worse from the boy, what with his penchant for anti-social behaviour. Perhaps, then, he had reached his limit. There was only so much avoiding he could do before he became oblivion himself. Millie had always been the exception; and certainly, she continued to be one. Yet, he stared at her now, baffled at her presence, and merely watched as she talked. How did she know where to find him? It was only when Trent felt the girl tugging at his hand that he made to stand from the ground. Still, he continued to stare as Millie set about making a nest for him. Truth be told, he was attempting to hold back the tears. She cared. She had always cared. And that was all that mattered, for now.

By the time Trent had settled himself into the bed, he found Millie with him almost immediately. Almost as if by instinct, he offered his shoulder by parting his hand from his body. The times that the couple were in bed together recently, after all, were made of hours of mere cuddling, and Trent listening to Millie rant about her days. Those times were simple and precious. There was barely anything more fascinating to the boy than to hear her speak, apart from burying himself in her smell. It was almost repetitive now, his desires. And anyone else would get bored of it, except him. He couldn't tire of Millie even if he tried. The boy leaned in closer when Millie made to kiss whatever it was better. He listened solemnly as the girl began to ramble, biting the insides of his mouth as he thought over he words. Yet, he was barely cheered. The only shred of happiness was thanks to the promise of cuddles.

Yet, before he could break down and hide in her, Trent couldn't help the grin that emerged on his face. His grandmother and Elliot. Who would have thought? He knew what his grandmother was like with young people, especially when they were the ones who did not object to being fawned over. "I expect she's invited the two of you to stay for dinner then?" Predictable, actually. She would shock him if she did not. Trent was, then, distracted from his question. Holding Millie's gaze, he started in all seriousness. "I ..." He paused, bit his lip, then continued. "Well, I'm here now." He said, lamely; the attempt to sound macho falling short of its expected glory. Then, attempting to change the subject due to his embarrassment: "What's Nan doing to Ell then? She abducted him yet? I wish she would, then she'll get off my back about going with her to ... what ... Book Club and Merlin knows what else, all with her friends!" He shook his head. "It becomes worse when she and her friends try to set me up with one of their granddaughters!" A shudder of displeasure ran through the boy.

"I'm already-!" Trent paused and stared at Millie for a few moments. A blink. A second one. Then, a sheepish grin, followed by a wrap of his hand around the girl's waist, before pulling her closer to him. With that, he cuddled her. Slowly, he released her, before admitting. "I didn't want to add to your plate. I mean. Your dad ..." He didn't need to, or want to, complete his sentence. "I don't know what Nan is so worried about, really. She worries too much. I don't know how Gramps stands her, really. All these years ... and still, still together." He bit his lower lip, the same part that had gone sore, and which was now turning rather red. "I love her," he added quickly, secretly really appreciative of the fact that Nan was this way only because she cared. "I just wish she would be less of this energy and fussing and ... it drives me mad." Then, he nodded in late agreement. "Ell can have her, really. Take her." He didn't really mean that.

The relationship that the two shared was as complicated as the human perception of the universe; there were no straight answers, just mixed emotions and a lot of theories. And ever since the holiday, more questions had sprung up and too few had been answered. Millie was left with her skin on fire and her stomach churning with the prospect of reliving the experience. Yet, despite this they seemed to return to normal and it was only now, brought together under strain and despair, that she realised that without him she was as lost as she felt he may well be without her. Millie’s hands found the warmth of Trent’s skin and she drew herself closer to him, pressing a short, second kiss to his temple before pulling back and beginning to stroke her fingers through his hair.

Millie’s eyebrows shot to her forehead at his question and she felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment at the idea; though, not because she thought it ridiculous but because she wanted nothing more. Millie smiled weakly at his response and shook her head before looping her arm around his waist and leaning against him, taking her place against his shoulder. She glanced up at him at the mention of granddaughter and dates and she pinched his side playfully in response, her face contorting into a quick expression of disapproval before smiling at him again and explaining: “She whisked him off to the garden. Wanted to show him the flower beds or something. I don’t know. I think he kind of just went because he had to, y’know?”

Sighing heavily, Millie shook her head and brought her hand round to link her fingers with Trent’s. “You’re silly,” She murmured gently to him. “There’s no use bottling it up. You’ve got to have an outlet. I take my anger out on Lavender.” Millie smiled impishly but couldn’t help but feel a little niggle of sadness rattle within her. She closed her eyes momentarily, washing away the pictures of her father that sprang up in her mind, and snuggled closer to Trent. “I’ve made the mistake of not talking about it. I just wanted someone to make it better and I still want someone to make it better. How can you, though? I can’t even bring myself to think about it let alone consider saying it aloud. I ...” Millie bit her lip. “You don’t want to be like me, Trent. We can work through this. You’ve got so many people to love you – especially your nana.” Millie smiled at him. “And you don’t really want Ellie to have her. Not really.” And with that she poked her head up and stole a kiss from his lips; a form of reassurance but really just a guilty pleasure.