Hogtober Shorts (Peacekeeper and Basilisk prequels)

Prompt 3: Gryffindor

Connor sighed as he walked through the streets, bored on his way to his next courier job. Back and forth, back and forth... it was all he ever did, now! But it paid the bills, so he couldn't complain too much. It was certainly better than living with his asshole of an ex. Anything was better than living with that egomaniac. He'd never met a man so full of himself!

He huffed at the thought and doubletimed his pace to the office, finding his next package and looking at the address. He whistled in shock at the street, knowing it was on the ritzy side of down.

"You're lucky you got this package, Lupin." The man behind the desk growled at him. "You only got it because you've never lost a delivery. Don't disappoint me."

"You can count on me, Mon capitan." Connor grinned with a fake salute, making his boss groan and roll his eyes in dismay.

"Just get going." His boss rubbed his brow in frustration at his carefree attitude, but Connor grinned because he knew his boss liked him. He got the job done, even if he did have his unorthodox ways of doing it.

It was a small package, so he tucked it into his vest to be subtle, and went about his way of heading toward Arlington street.

The houses got progressively nicer and larger the further he walked, and as he came upon the address he was supposed to bring the package he let out a soft whistle of awe. The house was massive, several stories tall, with opulent carved details and marble steps. These people must be loaded, that's for certain.

He took the package out of his vest and looked at the name. "Walsh, huh?" He said curiously. It wasn't one of the old families, but they certainly had the money like they were.

He knew better than to go to the front door, sidling down the alley beside the house to make his way toward the servant entrance. It was a gloomy looking alley, but it was filled with servants going this way and that between the rich houses they worked at. There were piles of boxes back here, likely supplies for the kitchens, and on one of the boxes sat a man hunched over with his hands buried in his auburn hair, the servants pointedly ignoring him as they bustled past.

"Scheisse, scheisse, scheisse..." he muttered as Connor got closer, and from the wavering tone of his voice he sounded pretty emotional.

Connor never liked seeing people hurting, call it a bleeding heart but he liked to help people. He glanced up at the house thoughtfully before tucking his package back in his vest for now, and walked over to the man. He silently sat beside him, and gave a little smile when blue eyes looked his way from beneath his hands. He was still hiding his face, and now the man had gone silent.

"Sounds like you're having a hard time." Connor said gently. "Anything I can help with?"

A harsh scoff came from the man, and he wiped at his face, pretending he wasn't wiping at his eyes but Connor knew better than that. Poor guy.

"Why do you care?" The man said coldly.

"Because you're in the back of an alley sitting on a box and muttering in pain?" Connor ventured, tilting his head curiously. "What's wrong?"

"My family is what's wrong." He muttered unhappily. "Fucking deranged."

Connor made a soft sound of sympathy. "I don't get along with my family, either."

The man looked back to him in surprise, his eyes softening a bit at the commonality between them. "No?" He asked quietly.

Connor smiled, because at least he was willing to talk. "No, they don't really like how I chose to live my life. But how I live is my decision and not theirs."