Kitchen Chats

As soon as Oliver let go of the flask, Padril dropped it into a nearby sink. The alcohol drained away with a gurgle. He didn't have a problem with indulgence, as long as it was done in moderation, as long as it never took advantage of you. Oliver was not in that position. The Hufflepuff resolved to get rid of his sugar the first chance he got. He considered informing a Professor about Oliver's problems- the boy clearly needed help. A therapist. A place where he could go to get away from his family, but Padril suspected the boy would never been amenable to that.

Oliver dropped to his knees, screaming. Since he was holding onto Padril, and was twice his weight, he brought the Hufflepuff down with him roughly. Padril sat up quickly, moving his arms around Oliver to gently hug him. "You helped a stranger," Padril reminded him. "You are kind. How could I possibly hate that?" Feeling it was a little weak, he went to expand on his points. "Bastard, liking boys, having a terrible father. None of that is a measure of a person. No one hates, loves, or remembers a person for those details. They're insignificant. Let them go." He could have gone on further, but he prefered to let that hang in the air for now.

Oliver's tears were comeing faster and his shoulders shaking as he cried into his hands. He knew people hated him for the one fact of him beinga bastered child alone. He could name a few with just one name. "He hates me, my father. And my half brother, my half sister does not know I exist, and that's for the best," he sniffled thinking about the baby Cecilia had just given birth to. "She needs someone strong." He muttered about his little niece.
Oliver once again leaned on padril for comfort, but this time his eyes fluttered closed as he sat there weeping. This could not happen again, but there he was depending on someone, on something.

"Oh, he doesn't hate you because you're a bastard," Padril told Oliver bluntly, maintaining his hug. "People are more complicated than that. Not enough love in his childhood, you remind him of his mistakes, his own mortality, there's a number of reasons. But they're all his problems, not yours. He's never even met you anyway, so his opinion is insubstantial." He maintained his tone, remaining close by Oliver's side, but the boy began to become frustrated. He was repeating himself and the Gryffindor simply wasn't listening. It was a simple problem, and Oliver didn't seem to want to deal with it, preferring to cry and hide in drugs. Padril still felt sorry for the boy, but his opinion of him was gradually decreasing. He was a child, lacking self-respect and dignity. The Hufflepuff would guide and love him like a child, but Padril doubted if he could see him as an equal.

This was the most frustrating part of himself, Padril realized. He gave his kindness and his love freely, but when he encountered people who soaked it up without giving back- regardless of how much they needed it- he began to resent them. Maybe it was just his survival instinct kicking in; if he gave all his love to people who couldn't return it, he would be a withered shell soon enough. And maybe it was an intellectual kindness, a utilitarian desire to give to people who needed it, and who could help sustain him in the long-term, creating a net increase in happiness for everyone. But Padril suspected it was a deeper, more elitist side of him. The one who got annoyed by less well-read people, sneered at those with upbringings that gave them incorrect ideas, and was frustrated at people who didn't have the strong sense of identity he had. That part scared him.

So Padril squashed the voice and hugged Oliver closer.

Maybe Padril was right about viktor, but how could oliver know? How could he give up all that he had ever believed just like that? He could no longer be seen with here with padril, he had to get away. a true krum would never kiss a guy. He needed to think, but he did not wish to leave the arms of Padril. The way the older boy was holding him felt right, it felt like it was where oliver was suposed to be. "I'm sorry," he whispered quietly after he had calmed himself. "I'm sorry i can not understand why you beleive these thingsv i wish life were as simple it seems in your presences." He pulled away from padril just enought that he could look up. at his face. "I am not as strong as i look. My sister can not see me like this. I must leave."

"Don't go," Padril repeated, remaining in the same position with his arms around Oliver. "You can stay and we can talk some more. You don't have to worry about being strong." All the right things to say, he was sure, but he was privately worried. The Kitchens weren't exactly private, and if they stayed here late enough the House Elves might actually show up to start cooking breakfast. They had at least another hour though, Padril figured. And right now, he thought Oliver needed to just shut up and be hugged. So on the Kitchen Floor of Hogwarts Castle, the Hufflepuff sat quietly with his arms around the Gryffindor.

He honestly couldn't comprehend how people had these issues. Maybe he had spent so long analysing characters and plots from films and books, he could just do the same with people and his own problems. That...that would make a lot of sense actually. Padril frowned in thought.

"No," Oliver said pushing Padril away from him. he had to get out, he had to get away. "Stay away from me." The fifteen year old got up off the floor "Just stay away from me." he repeated before leaving the kitchen.
He could not do this. He couldn't have feelings for a guy. He couldn't be gay or what ever they called it. He was supposed to be a Krum, he was suppose to be strong, stright, proud. "No!" he screamed in the hall punching one of the walls once again, cutting his knuckles on the bricks of the wall.

Padril fell to the ground and remained there as Oliver ran away. He closed his eyes as he listened to the boy running, then a loud thump which was undoubtedly him hitting something. He should be following Oliver, making sure he didn't hurt himself or anyone around him. Yet something kept him frozen to the ground, a pain that trembled through his body and made his limbs feel like water. It wasn't a hard coldness that like which had hit him when he had fallen in the rain. It was panicked, irregular electric feeling which shocked him and kept him down. His breathing was coming rapidly, and could feel his clothes pressing against his skin, the stones against his neck, the hairs on his arms. He had felt like this before, and knew if someone came past and saw his eyes, they would be a hazed blue.

He began to rub his thumbs into his palms, focusing solely on the sensation of skin rubbing against skin. His breathing became more regular, until finally he had regained composure. He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to impassively analyse the feeling, magnified by the Sugar, that had kept him on the floor and not taking care of a human being. A bit of fear, a lot of shame, but he couldn't quite identify their origins. He sighed. If he could think of the literature, he would have words and weapons to deal with this. Instead, the boy remained silent and immovable.

(I'm not sure if you want to end the thread there or not. If so, assume Padril sits like that for about twenty minutes before heading into the Hufflepuff Common Room. If not, please go ahead!)