The Chamber/The Way You Lie
The Chamber
Despite looking forward to going to Hogwarts as much as he had, Even hadn’t found the experience was wonderful as he’d envisioned. The library reached his expectations and was, somehow, even better than he’d expected. Wall to wall books, on many layers, with many sections, alleys and corridors and all of them just packed with literature and reference. The smell of centuries of dust and paper might have been repulsive to some, but to Even it was wonderful. He could think of nothing better. On top of that, the lessons were every bit as fascinating and interesting as he’d imagined. However, the social side of school had failed to materialise like he’d been promised.
To put it bluntly, he didn’t have many friends.
It wasn’t because he was mean or disagreeable, because he wasn’t - he was perfectly nice, even polite. Well spoken, gracious and rather popular with the teachers. That, perhaps, was the reason why he was such a lonely boy - teachers' pets didn’t tend to sit well with other students. His marks were always top of the class, top of the year, even, and that went a long way to putting people off him and making him feel bad for being smart. It didn’t help that many of the people his parents had expected him to be good friends with treated him with only luke-warm civility due to him not ending up in Slytherin like the rest of his family.
It was a little bit of a disappointment that cross-House close friendships weren’t all that common, but it was something he was able to cope with. For the most part, anyway.
While the Slytherins were decent to him only because of his surname and family connections, the Gryffindors distrusted him greatly. He was a Pure Blood and bore a particularly infamous surname despite being of no real relation to the Death Eater that wore his name like a badge of honour. Even so, it was because of this, they thought that he was like her.
Bellatrix Lestrange, a witch famous for being extremely close to Lord Voldemort and torturing some Aurors into insanity, was somebody he would always be associated with by those familiar with old Wizarding War headlines. It was hard, but he distanced himself from anybody who might make him look bad, eradicating the connections between even those who might have tolerated him despite his undesirable House.
The association was made all the worse because a certain boy had joined Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the year prior. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the only person to have ever survived the Killing Curse and who had, somehow, despite being but a year old at the time, defeated Lord Voldemort and freed the Wizarding World from the fear that surrounded him and everything he did. Although he disappeared after the event, having been sent to live with his Muggle relations, he had finally returned to where he belonged and was, at last, learning magic.
That fascinated Even, but also made him wary. He could really do without being connected too closely to Bellatrix, especially since one of Harry Potter’s classmates happened to be the son of those Aurors whose lives she ruined with her cruelty.
He was in his Fifth Year and it was quite close to Christmas.
He was, as always, going home that year and he wanted to more than ever because of what had happened. All in all, it had been a rather disastrous and scary term, not in the least because The Chamber of Secrets had been opened and a warning, 'Enemies of the heir, beware had been daubed on a corridor wall. He had been among the first to check Hogwarts: A History out of the Library after the very first mention and had read everything he could get his hands on about the subject.
He was safe, he knew he was, he was Pure Blood after all. Still, for those who were Muggle Born it was a terrifying time and it didn’t help that many of them had started to distrust those who wouldn’t be affected by Salazar Slytherin’s legendary monster. Not even Harry Potter himself was safe from that.
He had witnessed Harry speak Parseltongue in the Duelling Club which their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, a bumbler if ever Even saw one, took it over briefly. Thankfully, it was safely returned to the hands of his own Head of House, Professor Flitwick, shortly after that fiasco. It didn't make people feel particularly easy about the Potter boy, though. Parseltongue was an ability associated with Dark Wizards and, with the hysteria currently sweeping the school, not even being The Boy Who Lived kept him out from being under suspicion.
As if to make matters worse, the Gryffindor who dedicated a good portion of his free time to bullying him had decided to be worse than usual. Braig Johnson, a Muggleborn with a clear love of picking on him, had always lumped him in with the more unpleasant of the Slytherins, much to his dismay. Even when he had no grounds to pick on him concerning his family, he switched to calling him unpleasant names relating to his so-called annoying habit of overachieving. That, unfortunately, had come to a head in their previous year when Even had accidentally called him a ‘Mudblood’.
Despite their rivalry and apparently mutual dislike, Even had apologised profusely for the slip of and use of the slur, but it hadn’t really helped matters. If nothing else, it had all but confirmed to Johnson that Even was no different to the other Pure Blood kids, especially those in Slytherin.
He still felt guilty about it and Johnson knew it, opting to bring it up almost whenever he passed him. After the incident at the Duelling Club, and while he was on the way to the Library to return a book was one such occasion.
“I bet you’re loving this aren’t you, Lestrange?” He jeered, grinning up at him and blocking his way.
“Loving what, Johnson?” Even spat, looking down at him.
Although he had started school as being much shorter than Johnson, he had gone through quite a growth spurt and had, at last, grown into his over-long wand. Still, despite his stature, he absolutely and utterly failed at being imposing in any way, instead looking lanky and slightly awkward.
“This whole Chamber of Secrets thing,” Johnson shrugged. “Bet you can’t wait until Slytherin’s monster starts killing off the mudbloods can you?”
Even looked down, scowling. “How many times do I have to apologise for that? I didn’t mean it. It was said in error, I’m sorry.” He didn’t look him in the eyes.
“So you say,” he sniffed.
“Look, I--” Even started.
“Save it, I don’t care.” Johnson said, waving a hand and grinning at him. “So you reckon there is actually a monster?”
“Well, yes,” Even said, trying not to sound too haughty. He glanced at him briefly before looking back at his feet. His cocky look made him flush slightly. It had been doing that for a while now. “Salazar Slytherin was probably rather insane,” he said, shrugging. “If anybody kept a monster in the school it was him. I don’t know how long it would have lived, though. If he had one, it is likely dead by now.”
“Maybe it bred?”
“He’d have had to have more than one then, wouldn’t he?” Even pointed out. “What do you think about Harry Potter speaking Parseltongue?”
Johnson’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah, I dunno...” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, the one who killed You Know Who wouldn’t exactly be rooting for Slytherin, right? Just because he can talk to snakes doesn't mean he's the heir for sure.”
“Quite,” he said, nodding. “The people in my House don’t seem to agree, though, illogical as that is.”
“Not always the smart house, huh?” Johnson grinned, pointing up at him.
“Clearly not,” Even said, shaking his head. He was glad that the slightly more eccentric Ravenclaws were often overshadowed by the overachievers. It kept their reputation clean. “I intend to research what kind of monsters live that long,” he said, looking at him for a moment. “I can tell you what I find out, if anything, if you want?”
Johnson raised an eyebrow and looked squarely him, his expression suspicious. “Don’t try and get friendly to try and make me forgive you for being a dick about the blood thing, Lestrange.”
“I-I’m not, I just thought-”
“Yeah, y’can pass it on. But don’t think you’re the only one who’s lookin’ into it,” Johnson said, shaking his head. “I’d be surprised if there was a bestiary left in the whole school.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Even agreed, frowning. “But I have a library at home, so I can look in there since I am going home for Christmas.”
“Here’s hopin’ you find something’ useful, huh?” Johnson said, stepping out of the way to let him past. “Don’t forget, right?”
“As if I would,” Even sighed, carrying on towards the library.
The Way You Lie
The slam of a door heralded the end of another argument.
It was petty, they always were, but they had a habit of flaming out of control and exploding from simple misunderstandings or small disagreements into shouting matches and empty threats. Silence hung in the wake of the raised voices, a void left now that the shouting had finally stopped.
Paul’s knuckles were white as he gripped his wand. He drew in an unsteady breath as the sudden quiet washed over him. His throat hurt both from trying to talk sense over Jordan’s usual ranting and from staving off the emotional defeat he’d suffered. Even when he was right Jordan always won. He could feel tears sting his eyes even before they welled up and he forced himself to calm down. He was better than this, damnit. He’d dealt with it before, he could take Jordan’s outbursts, he should know better than to get worked up over them.
He slowly released his hold on his wand and allowed it to fall to the floor. Then, and with all of the energy and will left in him, he took the few steps to the nearest chair and sank into it. He sat in silence and stared straight ahead for a long time. He had no doubt as to where Jordan had gone. He knew him and knew full well that he had stormed out and headed straight for the nearest pub. He always did. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a problem with drinking and that fact was only compounded by the acrid scent of whisky coming from a broken glass on the floor.
Paul knew that Jordan had his problems. Seeing his son choose the boy he loved over him, despite and perhaps because of the fact that he was a part-human, had hurt him. He must have known full well that Jordan could and would never approve. He had no real opinion on that. Paul did not share Jordan’s prejudice against part-humans, but he was fully aware of his boundless arrogance and overblown sense of self importance. That his own son could consider somebody else, somebody not even fully human, more worthy of his time and energy than him must have stung his ego as much as anything else.
Work wasn’t exactly treating him any better. A misunderstanding had gotten him taken off the Obliviator squad for an undisclosed period of time and he had only narrowly escaped ending up in Azkaban permanently for what he had done. Yes, he had suffered a stint there while he was being detained, but anybody would have after what he was accused of. It was, thankfully, brief, but even upon his release he had not walked back into his old job. Yanni Schwartz had decided that he was better off away from the Muggles he was supposed to have been working with, for their safety as much as his own reputation. That bothered Jordan, even if other employment in the Department of Mysteries had been secured.
Jordan had never forgiven Justin for what he had decided, and he’d certainly not abandoned his quarrel with the Ministry of Magic. It didn't look as though he was going to do either of them any time soon.
Paul had, of course, stuck by him throughout his ordeals. He was sure that anything Jordan did, or said, in anger or frustration was justified on account of how he had been treated. Jordan had, despite how often they had argued, never raised a hand to him. His voice, certainly, but never his hand, or his wand. It was just how he vented and Paul reassured himself of that every single time it happened. Jordan blew up and then calmed down -- to some degree, at least. He held grudges, but never against him. He had never done anything wrong.
But it still hurt when he shouted.
He still cried when he took it out on him.
He tried not to. He was supposed to support him. It was up to him to try and make things better for Jordan, but it was hard. Each time it happened didn’t make it any easier. He would always keep the upset down for a while before it got too much. He tried to convince himself that he had nothing to cry about, that Jordan was the one who should be breaking down and that he was the one who needed and deserved help, but it rarely worked anymore.
He reluctantly brought a hand up to wipe his eyes, his teeth gritted with the effort of making himself stop. It seemed wrong to him to shatter the silence by sniffling , but he lost that fight as easily as he had lost the argument that made him do it. He covered his eyes and cried until his hands were wet. It made him feel a little better. The tension didn’t leave his shaking shoulders but the guilt of dwelling on his own sadness alleviated somewhat.
He looked up. It was dark outside. He got to his feet and crossed the room to close the curtains by hand -- anything to keep his mind occupied on something else for a couple of moments. He tidied up the room, straightened the furniture that Jordan had disturbed and picked up his wand. The shattered glass glistened in the dull artificial light. It was a sorry sight, one in a long line of broken glasses. Or it could have been the same one. He’d lost track. He bent over it and tapped his wand against it.
“Reparo,” he said quietly, his voice still cracked and heavy.
He picked it up, freshly mended by the spell, and took it through to the kitchen where he washed it and replaced it in the cupboard, ready for the next time Jordan hit the bottle. Because, he knew, there would always be a next time.
He dried his hands and turned out the light. He did the same for the living room, but left the one in the hallway on. Jordan would want it on when he got back, whatever time that was. He went upstairs and washed ready for bed. A reluctant glance into the mirror showed that his eyes were still red, but he didn’t really expect anything else. He sighed, brushed his teeth and crossed the landing to their room.
The bed was unmade - nothing unusual. He shook his head and changed into his pyjamas before moving to straighten the bedclothes. He heard the front door open, and then close. He froze where he stood, just for a moment, and glanced at the wand on the nightstand. He didn’t pick it up. He was perfectly sure that Jordan would never, ever hurt him as he never had before, but it was comforting knowing that his wand was close. It was ridiculous really. He shook his head and, with it, the thought away, and made the bed.
Jordan’s slow footsteps up the stairs showed some measure of intoxication, but the fact that he had paused at the bottom to remove his shoes and coat and then at the top to switch off the hall light before pushing the bedroom door open made him feel better. At least he still had some of his wits about him.
He smoothed the crinkles out of the covers and straightened up, only to be enveloped in Jordan’s arms. He tensed for a moment, but relaxed into the affectionate gesture, sighing quietly. It was gentle and warm and he leaned back against him as much as he dared given the chance of Jordan being somewhat unsteady on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan said over his shoulder.
He wasn’t slurring. That was encouraging, even if Paul could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You always are,” Paul replied softly.
He placed one hand over one of Jordan’s and slipped his fingers between his.
Jordan sighed and settled his cheek against the side of Paul’s head. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyelashes brushing Paul’s cheek with each slow blink. He held him a little more tightly, moving his free hand up onto one of Paul’s shoulders possessively and, Paul rather liked to think, protectively.
“I love you,” he told him after a moment, bowing his head to kiss across his other shoulder to his neck. The kisses went no further. He simply held him, lips warm against his skin.
Paul smiled a little. Despite everything, that never failed to make his heart beat that little bit faster. “I love you too. You know that.” He told him, squeezing his hand.
“Things will get better, Paul, I promise you.” Jordan said. Sincerity, whether real or fabricated by the drink, laced his voice.
“I know, I know,” he whispered, reaching behind him to brush his fingers through Jordan’s hair. “I know.”
He hoped.
If not, it was a lie he intended to cling to.
Despite looking forward to going to Hogwarts as much as he had, Even hadn’t found the experience was wonderful as he’d envisioned. The library reached his expectations and was, somehow, even better than he’d expected. Wall to wall books, on many layers, with many sections, alleys and corridors and all of them just packed with literature and reference. The smell of centuries of dust and paper might have been repulsive to some, but to Even it was wonderful. He could think of nothing better. On top of that, the lessons were every bit as fascinating and interesting as he’d imagined. However, the social side of school had failed to materialise like he’d been promised.
To put it bluntly, he didn’t have many friends.
It wasn’t because he was mean or disagreeable, because he wasn’t - he was perfectly nice, even polite. Well spoken, gracious and rather popular with the teachers. That, perhaps, was the reason why he was such a lonely boy - teachers' pets didn’t tend to sit well with other students. His marks were always top of the class, top of the year, even, and that went a long way to putting people off him and making him feel bad for being smart. It didn’t help that many of the people his parents had expected him to be good friends with treated him with only luke-warm civility due to him not ending up in Slytherin like the rest of his family.
It was a little bit of a disappointment that cross-House close friendships weren’t all that common, but it was something he was able to cope with. For the most part, anyway.
While the Slytherins were decent to him only because of his surname and family connections, the Gryffindors distrusted him greatly. He was a Pure Blood and bore a particularly infamous surname despite being of no real relation to the Death Eater that wore his name like a badge of honour. Even so, it was because of this, they thought that he was like her.
Bellatrix Lestrange, a witch famous for being extremely close to Lord Voldemort and torturing some Aurors into insanity, was somebody he would always be associated with by those familiar with old Wizarding War headlines. It was hard, but he distanced himself from anybody who might make him look bad, eradicating the connections between even those who might have tolerated him despite his undesirable House.
The association was made all the worse because a certain boy had joined Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry the year prior. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the only person to have ever survived the Killing Curse and who had, somehow, despite being but a year old at the time, defeated Lord Voldemort and freed the Wizarding World from the fear that surrounded him and everything he did. Although he disappeared after the event, having been sent to live with his Muggle relations, he had finally returned to where he belonged and was, at last, learning magic.
That fascinated Even, but also made him wary. He could really do without being connected too closely to Bellatrix, especially since one of Harry Potter’s classmates happened to be the son of those Aurors whose lives she ruined with her cruelty.
He was in his Fifth Year and it was quite close to Christmas.
He was, as always, going home that year and he wanted to more than ever because of what had happened. All in all, it had been a rather disastrous and scary term, not in the least because The Chamber of Secrets had been opened and a warning, 'Enemies of the heir, beware had been daubed on a corridor wall. He had been among the first to check Hogwarts: A History out of the Library after the very first mention and had read everything he could get his hands on about the subject.
He was safe, he knew he was, he was Pure Blood after all. Still, for those who were Muggle Born it was a terrifying time and it didn’t help that many of them had started to distrust those who wouldn’t be affected by Salazar Slytherin’s legendary monster. Not even Harry Potter himself was safe from that.
He had witnessed Harry speak Parseltongue in the Duelling Club which their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, Gilderoy Lockhart, a bumbler if ever Even saw one, took it over briefly. Thankfully, it was safely returned to the hands of his own Head of House, Professor Flitwick, shortly after that fiasco. It didn't make people feel particularly easy about the Potter boy, though. Parseltongue was an ability associated with Dark Wizards and, with the hysteria currently sweeping the school, not even being The Boy Who Lived kept him out from being under suspicion.
As if to make matters worse, the Gryffindor who dedicated a good portion of his free time to bullying him had decided to be worse than usual. Braig Johnson, a Muggleborn with a clear love of picking on him, had always lumped him in with the more unpleasant of the Slytherins, much to his dismay. Even when he had no grounds to pick on him concerning his family, he switched to calling him unpleasant names relating to his so-called annoying habit of overachieving. That, unfortunately, had come to a head in their previous year when Even had accidentally called him a ‘Mudblood’.
Despite their rivalry and apparently mutual dislike, Even had apologised profusely for the slip of and use of the slur, but it hadn’t really helped matters. If nothing else, it had all but confirmed to Johnson that Even was no different to the other Pure Blood kids, especially those in Slytherin.
He still felt guilty about it and Johnson knew it, opting to bring it up almost whenever he passed him. After the incident at the Duelling Club, and while he was on the way to the Library to return a book was one such occasion.
“I bet you’re loving this aren’t you, Lestrange?” He jeered, grinning up at him and blocking his way.
“Loving what, Johnson?” Even spat, looking down at him.
Although he had started school as being much shorter than Johnson, he had gone through quite a growth spurt and had, at last, grown into his over-long wand. Still, despite his stature, he absolutely and utterly failed at being imposing in any way, instead looking lanky and slightly awkward.
“This whole Chamber of Secrets thing,” Johnson shrugged. “Bet you can’t wait until Slytherin’s monster starts killing off the mudbloods can you?”
Even looked down, scowling. “How many times do I have to apologise for that? I didn’t mean it. It was said in error, I’m sorry.” He didn’t look him in the eyes.
“So you say,” he sniffed.
“Look, I--” Even started.
“Save it, I don’t care.” Johnson said, waving a hand and grinning at him. “So you reckon there is actually a monster?”
“Well, yes,” Even said, trying not to sound too haughty. He glanced at him briefly before looking back at his feet. His cocky look made him flush slightly. It had been doing that for a while now. “Salazar Slytherin was probably rather insane,” he said, shrugging. “If anybody kept a monster in the school it was him. I don’t know how long it would have lived, though. If he had one, it is likely dead by now.”
“Maybe it bred?”
“He’d have had to have more than one then, wouldn’t he?” Even pointed out. “What do you think about Harry Potter speaking Parseltongue?”
Johnson’s eyes widened slightly. “Ah, I dunno...” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I mean, the one who killed You Know Who wouldn’t exactly be rooting for Slytherin, right? Just because he can talk to snakes doesn't mean he's the heir for sure.”
“Quite,” he said, nodding. “The people in my House don’t seem to agree, though, illogical as that is.”
“Not always the smart house, huh?” Johnson grinned, pointing up at him.
“Clearly not,” Even said, shaking his head. He was glad that the slightly more eccentric Ravenclaws were often overshadowed by the overachievers. It kept their reputation clean. “I intend to research what kind of monsters live that long,” he said, looking at him for a moment. “I can tell you what I find out, if anything, if you want?”
Johnson raised an eyebrow and looked squarely him, his expression suspicious. “Don’t try and get friendly to try and make me forgive you for being a dick about the blood thing, Lestrange.”
“I-I’m not, I just thought-”
“Yeah, y’can pass it on. But don’t think you’re the only one who’s lookin’ into it,” Johnson said, shaking his head. “I’d be surprised if there was a bestiary left in the whole school.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Even agreed, frowning. “But I have a library at home, so I can look in there since I am going home for Christmas.”
“Here’s hopin’ you find something’ useful, huh?” Johnson said, stepping out of the way to let him past. “Don’t forget, right?”
“As if I would,” Even sighed, carrying on towards the library.
The Way You Lie
The slam of a door heralded the end of another argument.
It was petty, they always were, but they had a habit of flaming out of control and exploding from simple misunderstandings or small disagreements into shouting matches and empty threats. Silence hung in the wake of the raised voices, a void left now that the shouting had finally stopped.
Paul’s knuckles were white as he gripped his wand. He drew in an unsteady breath as the sudden quiet washed over him. His throat hurt both from trying to talk sense over Jordan’s usual ranting and from staving off the emotional defeat he’d suffered. Even when he was right Jordan always won. He could feel tears sting his eyes even before they welled up and he forced himself to calm down. He was better than this, damnit. He’d dealt with it before, he could take Jordan’s outbursts, he should know better than to get worked up over them.
He slowly released his hold on his wand and allowed it to fall to the floor. Then, and with all of the energy and will left in him, he took the few steps to the nearest chair and sank into it. He sat in silence and stared straight ahead for a long time. He had no doubt as to where Jordan had gone. He knew him and knew full well that he had stormed out and headed straight for the nearest pub. He always did. As much as he hated to admit it, he had a problem with drinking and that fact was only compounded by the acrid scent of whisky coming from a broken glass on the floor.
Paul knew that Jordan had his problems. Seeing his son choose the boy he loved over him, despite and perhaps because of the fact that he was a part-human, had hurt him. He must have known full well that Jordan could and would never approve. He had no real opinion on that. Paul did not share Jordan’s prejudice against part-humans, but he was fully aware of his boundless arrogance and overblown sense of self importance. That his own son could consider somebody else, somebody not even fully human, more worthy of his time and energy than him must have stung his ego as much as anything else.
Work wasn’t exactly treating him any better. A misunderstanding had gotten him taken off the Obliviator squad for an undisclosed period of time and he had only narrowly escaped ending up in Azkaban permanently for what he had done. Yes, he had suffered a stint there while he was being detained, but anybody would have after what he was accused of. It was, thankfully, brief, but even upon his release he had not walked back into his old job. Yanni Schwartz had decided that he was better off away from the Muggles he was supposed to have been working with, for their safety as much as his own reputation. That bothered Jordan, even if other employment in the Department of Mysteries had been secured.
Jordan had never forgiven Justin for what he had decided, and he’d certainly not abandoned his quarrel with the Ministry of Magic. It didn't look as though he was going to do either of them any time soon.
Paul had, of course, stuck by him throughout his ordeals. He was sure that anything Jordan did, or said, in anger or frustration was justified on account of how he had been treated. Jordan had, despite how often they had argued, never raised a hand to him. His voice, certainly, but never his hand, or his wand. It was just how he vented and Paul reassured himself of that every single time it happened. Jordan blew up and then calmed down -- to some degree, at least. He held grudges, but never against him. He had never done anything wrong.
But it still hurt when he shouted.
He still cried when he took it out on him.
He tried not to. He was supposed to support him. It was up to him to try and make things better for Jordan, but it was hard. Each time it happened didn’t make it any easier. He would always keep the upset down for a while before it got too much. He tried to convince himself that he had nothing to cry about, that Jordan was the one who should be breaking down and that he was the one who needed and deserved help, but it rarely worked anymore.
He reluctantly brought a hand up to wipe his eyes, his teeth gritted with the effort of making himself stop. It seemed wrong to him to shatter the silence by sniffling , but he lost that fight as easily as he had lost the argument that made him do it. He covered his eyes and cried until his hands were wet. It made him feel a little better. The tension didn’t leave his shaking shoulders but the guilt of dwelling on his own sadness alleviated somewhat.
He looked up. It was dark outside. He got to his feet and crossed the room to close the curtains by hand -- anything to keep his mind occupied on something else for a couple of moments. He tidied up the room, straightened the furniture that Jordan had disturbed and picked up his wand. The shattered glass glistened in the dull artificial light. It was a sorry sight, one in a long line of broken glasses. Or it could have been the same one. He’d lost track. He bent over it and tapped his wand against it.
“Reparo,” he said quietly, his voice still cracked and heavy.
He picked it up, freshly mended by the spell, and took it through to the kitchen where he washed it and replaced it in the cupboard, ready for the next time Jordan hit the bottle. Because, he knew, there would always be a next time.
He dried his hands and turned out the light. He did the same for the living room, but left the one in the hallway on. Jordan would want it on when he got back, whatever time that was. He went upstairs and washed ready for bed. A reluctant glance into the mirror showed that his eyes were still red, but he didn’t really expect anything else. He sighed, brushed his teeth and crossed the landing to their room.
The bed was unmade - nothing unusual. He shook his head and changed into his pyjamas before moving to straighten the bedclothes. He heard the front door open, and then close. He froze where he stood, just for a moment, and glanced at the wand on the nightstand. He didn’t pick it up. He was perfectly sure that Jordan would never, ever hurt him as he never had before, but it was comforting knowing that his wand was close. It was ridiculous really. He shook his head and, with it, the thought away, and made the bed.
Jordan’s slow footsteps up the stairs showed some measure of intoxication, but the fact that he had paused at the bottom to remove his shoes and coat and then at the top to switch off the hall light before pushing the bedroom door open made him feel better. At least he still had some of his wits about him.
He smoothed the crinkles out of the covers and straightened up, only to be enveloped in Jordan’s arms. He tensed for a moment, but relaxed into the affectionate gesture, sighing quietly. It was gentle and warm and he leaned back against him as much as he dared given the chance of Jordan being somewhat unsteady on his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Jordan said over his shoulder.
He wasn’t slurring. That was encouraging, even if Paul could smell the alcohol on his breath.
“You always are,” Paul replied softly.
He placed one hand over one of Jordan’s and slipped his fingers between his.
Jordan sighed and settled his cheek against the side of Paul’s head. He stayed silent for a moment, his eyelashes brushing Paul’s cheek with each slow blink. He held him a little more tightly, moving his free hand up onto one of Paul’s shoulders possessively and, Paul rather liked to think, protectively.
“I love you,” he told him after a moment, bowing his head to kiss across his other shoulder to his neck. The kisses went no further. He simply held him, lips warm against his skin.
Paul smiled a little. Despite everything, that never failed to make his heart beat that little bit faster. “I love you too. You know that.” He told him, squeezing his hand.
“Things will get better, Paul, I promise you.” Jordan said. Sincerity, whether real or fabricated by the drink, laced his voice.
“I know, I know,” he whispered, reaching behind him to brush his fingers through Jordan’s hair. “I know.”
He hoped.
If not, it was a lie he intended to cling to.