Working Through the Rest

Change Of Habits

A couple of weeks into term, there is a Hogsmeade weekend. Normally, I would do everything I could to avoid going, but today, I need to get somewhere other than school. I need a long walk. I need the cold. I need the distraction.

Scorpius asks if I'm okay with going out when – she – is still not back in Azkaban. I say I am, simply because the need to get out is much more present in my mind than the fear of her, though I don't say why.

And she wouldn't come after me in Hogsmeade. She wouldn't be that stupid. There are people everywhere. I'll be safe.

Scorpius asks if I mind if he doesn't come. I say of course it don't, because it's his choice and I understand if he's scared. I should be, but I think I'm a little past that, at this point. It feels like so long since anything actually happened, and even longer since it's been a dangerous thing, that it feels safe. It is safe, mainly.

Scorpius says he might come down to the village later, if he's feeling up to it. I assure him that it's more than fine if he doesn't, and it's his decision. And then I get ready to go. He stays with me as I do and everything begins to feel a little calmer, just through his presence.

I don't think he realises how much it helps me, how much being able to rely on him does to assure me that I am not alone. I know he doesn't know. I know that there is a chance that things would be different if he did know. But for the moment I'll gladly accept this. I need this.

*

The walk down to Hogsmeade is unpleasantly cold and windy. Between the hat that I've pulled down over as much of my face as possible, and the scarf wound around my neck and lower face, it's almost a miracle I can actually see anything.

I keep walking on, weighing up the pros and cons of sitting in the Three Broomsticks. If I found Rose, I could probably avoid anyone trying to beat me up. And it would be warm. Shit me, it would be warm.

But I'm not sure about how I would feel around a lot of people. Lots of people means talking. Lots of people means pretending to be okay in order to avoid questions. Lots of people means lying. Which is something I'd rather avoid.

So, walking around in the cold seems to be the plan again. It won't be that bad – it'll clear my head. The cold always seems to do that, even when it's combined with the wind and the occasional burst of rain.
"Albus."

I look up to see Tom Anderson walking towards me, waving and smiling. I wave back, but I don't smile. It's not as if he'd even be able to see if I did, what with the scarf covering my face.
"Morning," I say. "How are you?"
"Decent," Tom shrugs. "I was wondering about you. Scorpius isn't here."
"He didn't feel like coming," I explain, wanting to mumble but instead half-shouting over the wind.
"Things are still okay between you two?"
"He has no idea, so yeah."
"Are you okay, Albus?"
"I came out to my parents," I speak as quietly as possible.
"Okay," Tom nods. "Were they okay with it?"
"Mum was. Dad was – dad doesn't think – he wasn't okay."
"I'm sorry Albus. That's shit. Do you think he'll come around?"
"I don't know," I shrug. "And at this point I just – I don't care. I probably will later. But right now, I've just added it to the pile of shit."
"I'm here if you need to talk to anyone," Tom says gently. "Just come find me."
"Thank you."

I mean it. Knowing that I have at least one person at school who knows and who cares, means the actual world. And I think Tom knows that. I think he understands this feeling of being alone, this fear.

Tom smiles and walks away, re-joining his group of friends. We've reached the village at this point and I wander towards the Shrieking Shack. On the few occasions that I've come down to Hogsmeade, I've always liked it up there. Because it's quiet. And because the history of the place always flows, almost incomprehensibly, from Scorpius' lips. It's always funny to watch, and we end up a giggly mess most of the time.

But today I am alone. And that's okay. It is his decision. I am alone. Which isn't anything new anymore.

I stop at the fence, a few feet from the building, staring up at it. People call it a ruin, a shack, but it's more than that. It's art. It's beautiful.