apples and scented candles • h.potter ✓

• sixteen •

Corben returned home early from the Ministry. It was lunchtime, but as soon as entered his little flat, he went straight to his bedroom and climbed into his bed, not bothering to take off his jacket. His blanket was folded in one corner – he unfolded it and spread it over him, before he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

As he lay there, he imagined what was happening at the Ministry right now. He didn't know where trials for convicted criminals usually took place, nor did he know what exactly happened during such trials. He imagined his mother sitting on a chair, restrained and sobbing, whilst a group of wizards questioned her. There was obviously no hope of her going free – everyone knew of the deeds of Affrodile Zabini. The trial would only serve to decide what her punishment would be.

Corben let out a small sob. He could almost hear his brother wrinkling his nose in disgust and chiding him for crying for their mother. Despite the tears forming in his eyes, Corben felt repulsed by himself. Why was he crying for her?

He pulled the blanket tightly around him and wiped his eyes furiously. He hated himself for crying, for wasting his tears on the person who has never cared about him. From where he lay in bed, he watched the crystal whale model on top of the wardrobe – the gift from his mother. He had broken it once, he wanted to break it again.

What was going through his mother's mind right now? He wished he could look into her face and deduce her thought processes. No matter how much Blaise despised his mother, it was a hard fact that he had inherited his poker face from her. Affrodile Zabini was an actor, a poser. Every expression she put up in her face had a purpose. She only ever smiled or wept or laughed if such expressions brought some benefits unto her. Otherwise, her face would remain impassive. All day, everyday.

The temperature in the room dropped as the sun began to sink. He was immersed in darkness, but he did not bother to get up and turn on the lights. He remained cocooned inside his blanket, his jacket still on. Has the trial ended? What was her sentence? Lifetime imprisonment, or maybe just a few years? Was she being taken to Azkaban right now? Maybe she was already there, sobbing inside the walls of her cell and thinking of her son who did not go to see her when she had proposed a request to visit.

Corben was overcome with guilt. He shouldn't have listened to Blaise. He should have gone to visit his mother after receiving that letter. He wanted to punch himself.

A sudden knock on the door made him wince. Corben tightened the cocoon around him, not wanting to get out of his bed to open the door. He closed his eyes.

The knocking continued. It was probably Blaise or Theo. He didn't feel like talking to them right now, so he stayed in his cocoon, ignoring the knocking.

He heard a click as the door opened, and footsteps reached his ears seconds later. They stopped as they neared his bed, and someone cleared their throat.

"Sorry for letting myself in like this," a voice spoke, "but I was worried. Are you okay, Corben?"

He loosened the blanket and peeked his head out, for the voice belonged to neither Blaise nor Theo.

"Harry?" he asked confusedly, rising to a sitting position and scooting over to let Harry sit. "What are you doing here?"

He pressed his lips, avoiding looking at Corben. Sudden dread came over him. He leaned forward and grasped Harry's shoulders.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is the trial over? What happened? Why did you come here?"

Harry played with the sleeves of his jumper. "The trial is over," he muttered quietly, looking like it took him great effort to let those words out.