Isolation

Rain. Thundering, stormy rain. The night was threateningly black, hardly dissipated in areas by dim streetlights. The hot, heavy breath of the Earth stifled the air, the forceful rain pounded the pavements, pouring in freezing sheets that evaporated the moment they hit the furnace-like roads. The entrance of St Mungo's was quiet, deceptively so. At the witching hour of midnight, Nature was in turmoil, but the Wizarding world was silent. Or maybe only the surface was calm, the interior brimming with things that were best left unsaid, deeds better left undone.

In that tempestuous night, through the glass display of a dilapidated brick-work building, the hidden entrance of the most famous Wizarding Hospital, a figure darted out. It was a mere silhouette in the darkest of nights, a figure which ran and ran on the slippery pavements like the very hounds of the Devil were after him, then twisted in mid-air and disappeared with a pop.

Albus didn't know where he was. He didn't care. All he knew was that, wherever, wherever he had Apparated, it was far away from the hospital. And it was still raining. The rain, hot and cold, merciless, beat down on his arms like a frenzied sprite, poured down his sleeves, drenched his socks, scoured his face. Salty trails, running down his cheeks mingled with the rain and flowed freely. Albus lifted up his face to the heavens, willing the dirt, the grime, the sickness to be scoured away by the purifying acid, the rain. But it was no use. The nausea twisted and curled in his stomach like a furious Basilisk, and Albus could hold it in no longer. His dark hair whipped in the rain as he fell to his knees and retched, black bile clawing up his throat and forced to the ground. He vomited till the pain receded, till the nausea stopped, till the world stopped spinning wildly before him. But the images were burned on the back of his eyelids, and try as he would, the fresh waves of sickness and nausea hit him again, and again, till his stomach cried in protest, till the vomit was food no more, but pure water and bile.

His knees were digging painfully into the stone pavement, his hands in a claw-like grip. The world was a mere blur. The stench burning his throat and nostrils was intolerable. His ears could hear nothing, not footsteps, not words, not voices. His limbs were shaking. But Albus stayed, kneeling, in the pouring rain. It wasn't that he didn't want to get up. It was more of how he couldn't. Not anymore. Never again.

Jack and Sunny had been caught up in the rain as they went to the corner store to pick up some milk for Sunny's cereal in the morning. When the rain had begun pouring, Jack found themselves at an impasse. Sunny did not have the stomach for apparation, and there was nowhere free from muggles' eyes to really summon an umbrella or anything that could really be of great use. Luckily, Sunny was really into wearing rain clothes. They were in the store when the rain began to wash the streets. After making her purchase, Jack bent down to button her niece's coat and lift the six year old's hood before they made their way into the cold onslaught.

Sunny's stubby fingers quickly found Jack's - this sensation was new for Jack. She had never been one to hold hands. In fact, she could not remember holding anyone's hands besides Chase as she died. No, she had held Nemo's hands while he was in Mungo's, recovering. But this was different. Those other times, she had been the one to reach out, and it was the little redheaded girl that reached for her now. Somehow, the six year old was grounding Jack.

They ran, heads bent, towards home. Home was new for both of them, since Jack had just moved into the new place, and Sunny had just moved in with Jack. Still, it was not too far from the store, and Jack hoped they could reach it before they were too soaked - especially because she did not have a hood.

As they turned the corner onto their street, she could vaguely see a strange figure struggling in the rain. She slowed cautiously, and Sunny asked, "Is that a dog?" Jack didn't answer but, as they drew closer, Jack grew more certain that this was no dog. It was definitely human, and it was definitely human.

Jack stopped and released Sunny's hand. "Stay here." She jogged the few steps between herself and the figure and bent over, touching the figure's shoulder. "Hello? Are you okay?" She moved around and caught sight of the face. Shock hit her heavily and she let out small gasp of surprise. "Albus! I-" She glanced down, spotting the traces of vomit being washed away in the rain. Her eyes darted back up to his. "What's wrong?"

Albus didn't know for how long he had been there. His joints were aching in protest, his knees chafed and bruised from digging against the cold stone, his entire body drenched by the rain, until it felt like he would never be dry again. The world may have passed from one century to another, and Albus Potter remained, eyes closed, buckled on the edge of an unknown road.

Then, a strange sensation. On his...his shoulder, yes. Someone was tapping on it. Trying to gain his attention. Albus didn't have the energy to move, to think or comprehend. The person moved, till Albus could see the dirty, soaked laces of their sneakers. Then a voice. A word.

His name. The person had called out his name.

Albus lifted his head slowly, painstakingly, raised it till his chin was parallel to his neck. His vision was blurred, and he gazed unseeing at the face for sometime. Then it hit him like an earthquake. Jack.

Albus blinked rapidly, raindrops clinging to his eyelashes. Jack's eyes flitted briefly, down to the pool of vomit on the ground, then up to his eyes. She shaped out words with her lips, and slow comprehension seeped into Albus's senses. What's wrong. What's wrong.

Albus snapped.

"Nothing." He bit out brusquely, harshly, whipping her hand away from his shoulder. He turned his face away, and the realization burned in him like acid, that Jack had seen him. Seen him retch, seen him cry. Seen him break. The male ego that was hardly stirred in Albus now coiled up to strike like a snake. He pushed himself up with muscles that cried out in agony, and got to his feet unsteadily. "Go away, I'm fine." The hoarse, contemptuous tone would have shocked anyone who knew the mild-mannered, ever-composed Potter, but Albus was not that Potter anymore. He needed to get away, now, before he ended up doing something that he would regret. Again.

Albus's jaw tightened even as he turned away, the world spinning around him. He didn't need anyone's..sympathy. He staggered for a few steps, then crumbled, knees buckling and hitting the pavement hard. Hours of being in one position, of puking his guts had sapped his energy. His legs were shaking too hard for him to walk. Albus bit his lip fiercely. Dammit. Damn every bloody thing to hell.

Their eyes met for a moment - it was so strange, and yet this was always how it happened. People did not just arbitrarily enter Jack's life. She did not swim in an ocean of casual acquaintances, nor did she seem to find herself in the company of those who lived quiet, ordinary lives. When someone worked their way into her life, they managed to lodge themselves there for awhile.

Still, it seemed so accelerated. Here, the two had hardly said a word since school, though she had reconnected with his brother. And suddenly, she found herself inexplicably explaining herself to him; found herself allying with him. And now here he was, broken before her.

But he did not seem to like this. He snapped, pushing her hand away. She dropped it to her side, refusing to move her gaze from his. He stumbled to his feet, denying her help. Her eyes flashed with determination, for no one could escape her wrath, and no one could escape her care. She could see Sunny shifting closer and closer as Albus attempted to remove himself.

He stumbled, but she did not immediately run to his rescue. She beckoned Sunny closer and handed her the key to their house. "Run ahead and go inside - Max is still at work. If you could make up the guest room for me, I'd appreciate it. DON'T touch the teapot."

Sunny took the key and nodded, before running off - fully intending on making a cup of tea for them all anyway.

Jack turned back to Albus and approached him, kneeling down before him as rain washed over her. She looked straight at him, "If you make this hard for me, I'll put you down right here in the middle of the street like a stray dog. I'm going to help you up and you're coming to my house for a cup of tea - and you don't have a say in the matter."

She reached out, pushing her shoulder under his armpit and lifting with the strength of a well-trained Quidditch player - what a coincidence, as she was a well-trained Quidditch player. She pointed through the rain at a cottage, where the front light had just flicked on. "We're going right there."

((Slight godmode - I can edit it out if you wish!))

Over the sound of the rain, Albus could hear stray words hitting his ear like flies. There was somebody else with Jack. She seemed to be giving directions, and the sound of light, fading footsteps announced that the person was now gone.

Heavier footsteps. Jack kneeled, and Albus's vision was confronted with the image of a pale face, with raindrops sliding down the hollowed cheeks and wet hair plastered to the forehead. And eyes, undeniable, determined eyes. She spoke, and Albus resisted the urge to scoff audibly when she talked of putting him down. That didn't stop him from hissing in protest when she propped him up against her, and pulled him from the ground despite himself. Albus glared at her, openly, and wrenched his arm away. Merlin, was she thick? Didn't she get the fact that he didn't want her help?

"You don't owe anything to me. We're not friends Jack, and you don't have the bloody right to tell me where I should go, or not. Get the point?" The part of Albus's mind that was still sane was shocked at how these bitter words were so easily dropping from his tongue. But he felt drunk, drunk on the rain, drunk on the pain. Where had politeness and courtesy taken him in life anyway? Everything was crap.

But inhibitions dropped or no, a whole personality was difficult to forget. And somewhere at the back of his head, Albus knew that it was only leaning against Jack's strength which still kept him standing. His head was pounding like a thousand devils, his throat burned, and those dim lights in the rain were starting to look inviting. Surely, he wouldn't be demeaning himself more if he simply cleaned up at Jack's home?

The lightning flashed, thunder crackled. In that instant of light, Jack's pale face was thrown into sharp relief, and somehow, Albus's mind flew back to broken confessions. His jaw tightened, there was a heavy trace of resentment and sullenness in his voice, but there was no mistake in the meaning of his words as he threw off Jack's support, and started trudging himself, wearily, towards the light.

"I hope you have Firewhisky."

Jack had known both of the Potter boys for a very long time. Of course, she was closer with James, even though she was nearer in age to Albus. She and James had personalities much more suitable - well, that was how it had been in school anyway. Both had breathed Quidditch; practically lived in the detention room; had been minorly insolent; and had been from a rougher crop of students. Albus had been quieter, more studious, polite - dare she call it submissive? Regardless, no matter distant she might actually have been from the quieter Potter boy, she had still known him long enough to determine the difference between the Albus everyone saw and the Albus hiding from the light of day.

And Jack could see the hidden Albus clawing his way to the surface. Something sinister was overtaking his expression - a darkness that clouded over him, erasing the typically soft countenance and distorting his features into a face Jack could barely realize. He pulled away from her, so hard that she stepped back, staggering and splashing into a puddle that soaked her up to knee.

His words, however, were the real change. She had never heard venom in Albus' voice. Albus, who she and James had teased to be a stick in the mud, never displaying any real bits of passion or fury... and here his eyes flashed with rage, his words accused harshly, his tone bit and stung. Jack, though, was well accustomed to people trying to rip her to shreds with their words. Her walls stood around her heart, and her jaw clicked as it set with determination, a subdued anger gleaming in her own eyes.

"What makes you think I want to be your friend, you ass? I get the point - but I'm not leaving. Get the point?"

There was a flash of light, illuminating the pale faces of the pair. A moment later, thunder tore through the heavens, and the gaze held. Darkness took over again, and she could see Albus turn towards her home. At his words, she turned to face it too. "Of course I have Firewhiskey - I'm not a barbarian."

She led the way - leaving him to gather his dignity if that was what was causing him to be such a prat.

((Nice post ))

The door opened with a soft click, a sound that belied the intensity of the situation. The lights were dim, comforting. And so once more, Albus Potter stood at the porch of Jack Dyllan's door, uncalled for, simply because circumstances demanded it. But this time, it was his fault.

He was angry, he was exhausted, he was humiliated, he was drained. But even as he stepped inside the dimly lit room, Albus unconsciously flicked his wand, to clean the dripping mud from his shoes. An old, polite habit, drilled into him by Molly Weasley. Of course, he was the only one among the Potter-Weasley spawn to actually follow it. It was a habit of the old Albus.

But was he the old Albus anymore? The anger and irritation in the lines of Jack's face, and above all the unfeigned surprise as he snapped at her, somehow warned him that he had crossed the point of no return. Was recovery possible? Could he quietly apologise for his words, his actions, and excuse himself from there, like how his instincts were screaming at him to do?

The door closed, and Jack stood before him, looking at him as if she had never seen him before. Albus liked that look.

"So....planning to cuddle me like a five-year old child then?" His voice was hoarse, and quieter, not as acidic as before. But it held the ring of steel that it had never held before. Emerald orbs found another green pair, "Or do you plan to bring the bottles next year?" Because shedding his mask like this was addictive. It gave Albus a high. His facial muscles were liberated from the shackles of fake smiles. That sardonic voice, those snippy words that had so far been to the back of his brain, were now free. Free to rampage and riot, as it were.

((Thanks! You're doing wonders for my muse! I'm really digging this thread!))

Jack didn't look back, though her ears strained to hear Albus follow her, and she could almost imagine the sight that would have greeted her had she turned around. He was surely still unsteady, because no one simply bounced back once they had started to spiral downwards. And the hardest thing to do once you had begun to spiral, was to move forward. Jack knew that from experience.

She approached the cottage and pulled the door open, keeping it open for Albus as she moved inside. Sunny was standing on a chair, pouring tea from a kettle into three cups. "Sunny! I said - whatever." She took the kettle from her niece and said, "Go make sure the guest room isn't occupied, please." She never could tell, when it could easily be taken by the guests of her roommate or landlord.

Sunny bounded off as Albus entered the cottage. Jack approached and closed the door behind him, pausing to look him full in the face - what was going on with him? What had spurred this change? But that was what bothered Jack the most. Was this really a change, or was this Albus stepping into something that felt more natural, felt more akin to what he really felt?

People. They pissed her off.

She turned and kicked a chair out from it's place at the table, giving him the option to sit if it struck him too. She approached the sink and dropped to a squat, opening the bottom cupboard. He was busy mouthing off, of course, and Jack was looking through the liquor cabinet for him. Sunny entered right on time.

Speaking over his last sentence so full of sass, Jack said, "Could you show him to his room, Sunny?"

The six year old turned her gaze on the strange new man and offered a small little smile. "You look bad," she commented. "That's okay - I was sick last week, and I looked like a turtle out of her shell." She reached out and grabbed his hand, seizing the middle three fingers with her whole hand. She tugged it and pointed down the hall. "It's really warm in that guest room. Sometimes I sneak out of my room and sleep there."

She glanced at Jack, making sure her aunt had not heard her confession. Jack, however, had found the Firewhiskey, but was still looking for some of her own mead - she was going to need something stronger than Firewhiskey for herself.

Sunny smiled at Albus. "C'mon. She'll bring the drinks in soon!"

Albus resisted the urge to growl in frustration.

She was ignoring him. Pretending as if it didn't matter, as if his words were drunken ramblings to be swatted away like annoying flies. Didn't she see? Albus needed this. He had been closed off for too long, bottled up for too long, and today the volcano had exploded. The emotions churned in his chest like lava.....he needed to vent. He was angry at the world, had been for so long. And he wanted the world to know it. And unfortunately, Jack was the only one there to bear the brunt of it.

But the world didn't seem to give a f*ck. And neither did Jack.

Oh, Albus wasn't a fool. He knew this was a short-term explosion. He knew that the next morning, when the adrenaline pumping through his veins wore off, when the images burned on his lids faded, when the doubt and all-enclosing chains of doubt and fear closed their grip, he would be back to 'normal'. He would probably tender a sincere, regretful apology to Jack for inconveniencing her, complete with wry, self-deprecating jokes and assurances that it would never happen again. Never. He had just one night to express himself. One night to breathe.

Albus opened his mouth again, to talk, to demand her attention, to confess.....he didn't know. Just then, a small figure approached him. A child, replete with doe-like eyes and a glowing smile. She said something, about turtles and shells, but Albus was too preoccupied with the sensation of having small, stubby fingers wrap around his own. And then, despite himself, a small, almost non-existent smile flickered at the corner of his lips.

She confided something in him, with the child-like tendency of attaching too much importance to too little things, and as Albus followed her light feet into the guestroom, he couldn't help but respond; with a burning throat but a tone softer than he'd like to admit, "I used to do that too, especially when my brother was behaving like a jerk. He loved to slip things into my bed, bugs mostly. Stupid prat." And for a few moments, in that glow of remembering family ties yet untainted by bitterness, Albus smiled fully. And looking at him in those few moments, the years fell away, and one remembered a soft-spoken, kind-hearted, dark-haired young student in Slytherin green, sought out by distressed minds and burdened hearts.

Jack was bad with handling emotion. She had tried, she really had. When Vito had hurt, she had held him, and told him she believed in him. The result had been devastating - he had turned on her, denied her affection, thrown her aside, killed her friend, murdered her hope. She had tried to empathize with Ariel - told him that, even if he was a werewolf, he was still a person. And when it had come time to bare herself as the monster, he had been unable to look at her. And how many nights had she cradled Nemo, held his hand, told him loving words, begged him to believe in himself a fraction of what she believed for him? And yet, every day had been a new battle, a new breakdown, and now he was gone. Jack did not have confidence in her ability to fix people. Her heart broke because she wished she could take all those who hurt and make them whole, but she never managed it. They were always worse, and she always, always lost them.

So she did not look at Albus, because, if she did, she would want to help, want to console, and she would mess it all up. Leave it to Sunny, who could not be blamed. Leave it to youth, so sincere and naive with their care. Sunny smiled up at Albus as they entered the guest room and she pointed at the bed. "It's really comfy. You should sit down. And when Jack's not around, jump on it." She nodded. "Really. It's the most fun thing in the whole, wide world."

Just then, Jack entered. She carried two bottles in one hand, and a tea tray in another. Sunny hurried forward to help her aunt with the load, innocently taking the bottles from her. Jack set the tea tray on a table, still not looking at Albus as she said, "Tea - to warm you up if you want. If not, you can drink straight from the bottle - it's yours."

She looked up at Sunny, who had set the bottles of alcohol down. "Sunny, Spongebob reruns are on. You can go and watch them in the living room and have the couch all to yourself." Sunny gasped with joy and looked at Albus. In one breath she said, "Alright-nice-to-meet-you-bye" and she darted out of the room.

Jack closed the door after Sunny and paused, staring at the door. Then she turned and finally looked at Albus, but still said nothing. She went and sat next to him, still trying to figure out how to handle the situation. She took a deep breath, looking forward. "Say whatever it is you need to say. Tomorrow, I'll pretend it ever happened - or if this mead does its job, I'll be forced into secrecy by forgetfulness anyway. Just... go for it, mate."