For Polypaston and Krislaughs -- "Still Here"
A bit of explaination is in order for this fic.
First and foremost, HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRIS! I know it's come and gone in your neck of the date line, but it's not quite even the 8th here yet and I'm posting you birthday fic. Go me! And go you for making it to your 24th year, sanity intact. =D
Second, I combined two prompts on this one, polypaston's and krislaughs'. I hope you'll forgive me. In return, you both get a fic that is about four times longer than any of the others I've written for this challange so far. =) Took a little liberty with both of your prompts. Hope you don't mind. They were BRILLIANT prompts. =D
Third, the idea for a Kirke/Sloper OTP came from a single scene in Sect where Kris, while betaing, kept making slashy remarks about the two beaters on the Quidditch team. I like Jack and Andrew, and I've given them distinct personalities in Sect and Kris kept telling me I needed to write their opus. So here it is, darling.
Finally, many millions of thanks to ignipes who performed a surgical strike super fast last second pinch hit beta for me. You rock with your sentence untangling skills.
And now, without further ado:
Jack was alone when the news came. That was for the best, because it meant that no one but Ginny saw him cry. He wasn't sure he could have bucked up and made a good impression in front of Neville or Remus or even Harry. Though Harry would probably have understood. They had all seen him cry; it was part of what made him so easy to follow.
Jack didn't really remember much of the conversation. He remembered that it had been late afternoon, that the light had been coming in the window behind Ginny's head lighting up all the fine hairs around her face. She said something about a raid and an accident, and then all he heard was 'Andrew'.
He didn't even realize he was crying until he saw the dark spots on the infirmary blanket from his tears. All he could think was, I wasn't there...
~
"I can't fucking breathe!" Jack shouted against the thick down-filled sleeping bag his friends were currently trying to suffocate him with. His voice sounded muffled even to his own ears, his words swathed in polyester and feathers and fighting against the muted cacophony of laughter all around him. Someone sat on his foot. "Ouch, dammit! Get off of me, you bastards!"
Brushing his nose against the cool teeth of the zipper, Jack inhaled deeply from the little air making its way through the tiny gaps and fought down panic. He didn't like enclosed spaces very much, but he was trying very hard not to think about that.
Mustering his strength, he rolled suddenly to one side, dislodging the two or three boys into a landslide of curses and laughter. His movement no longer as restricted, he quickly grasped the zipper pull, yanking the teeth apart with one hard heave and gulping in the cool, fresh air as he blinked in the suddenly blinding light of Andrew's bedroom.
With a loud whoop, Andrew launched himself off of his tall sleigh bed and tackled Jack, sending him sprawling into the pile of bodies already rolling and laughing on the floor.
"Enough!" Andrew's mum stood in the doorway. Her tone was firm, but her eyes were twinkling. "We said you could have some mates over, Andy, not a herd of wrestling hippogriffs!"
"Mum," Andrew whined. "Don't call me that!"
"Headlock!" Walter shrieked, grabbing Terrance around the neck and swinging him to the ground.
"Enough!" Mrs. Kirke said again, putting her hands on her hips. "Lights out, you hooligans. I don't want to hear another peep until morning, or it's cold cereal for the lot of you while the rest of us have waffles."
"Peep!" Geoff squeaked, and suddenly the room was a chorus of chirps and peeping. Mrs. Kirke rolled her eyes and waved her hand at the lamps, dimming them before she shut the door.
The threat of having to watch Andrew's parents and sisters eat waffles while they had none kept the whispers and peeps to a barely audible level, and the other boys reluctantly rolled towards their own beds. When Andrew had invited him over to stay the night, Jack had, of course, brought his bedroll; so had all of the other boys. What he hadn't expected was for each of theirs to unfold into an assortment of elaborate camp beds. Walter's looked like a regular cot and smelled strongly of wet dog, Terrance's was remarkably similar to the four poster beds they all had in Gryffindor tower, only done in Slytherin colors, and Geoff's was like some sort of unholy union between an army cot and a beanbag chair with squishy bits in unlikely places.
They had all been surprised and fascinated when Jack's Muggle sleeping bag turned out to be just that: a bag to sleep in. And that was when they'd decided to see how long he could last inside of it with one of them sitting on either end.
"Oy, Sloper," Andrew whispered, hanging halfway off his own bed in an attempt to nudge Jack with his foot. "Alright?"
"Alright," Jack whispered back.
"You're not cold down there on the floor?"
"No," Jack lied. "My dad and I have slept outside in these in thirty degree weather. This is nothing."
Andrew didn't reply right away. Then, "Can I try it?"
"Wha--"
But Andrew was already rolling off his bed with a thump and fiddling with the zipper.
"No," Jack protested, "pull it down, not out -- there. But it's not really big enough--"
The sleeping bag was, however, big enough, and suddenly, there was Andrew, squirming and wiggling and yanking the zipper up around them both. He poked Jack in the ribs and Jack shook his head in wonder at the delighted grin on his friend's face.
"Well?" Jack asked. "What do you think?"
"It's brilliant," Andrew replied with a happy little wriggle. "Like being a caterpillar all done up in a cocoon."
In the darkness, Geoff snored.
"Is he always this loud?" Walter demanded.
"Every bloody night," Andrew groaned. "It's like living with a fog horn."
Terrance snickered and shifted in his bed. "Paul Parkinson snores too. Only his ends with a whistle." Terry gave a great snort and then let the air out slowly through his nose with a high pitched hum causing the others to laugh. Soon, things were quiet again except for Geoff's rumbling snores.
"Why didn't you invite Colin?" Jack asked quietly as Andrew kicked him again, trying to settle into a more comfortable position in the sleeping bag.
"I did. Mum said I couldn't invite you and Geoff and not invite him, but his da wouldn't let him come." He rolled over to look at Jack with sleepy eyes, nearly taking Jack's nose off with his elbow in the process. "Your parents are awfully cool for Muggles," he said around an enormous yawn.
Jack shrugged. This was high praise from a mate who had grown up so isolated in the wizard world that he actually believed it when his uncle Marty told him that Muggles all had purple fur and a yellow horn growing out of their foreheads.
"They're alright," Jack said. "They don't really get it -- magic, I mean, but I guess they just want me to be happy."
"Mmmfh," Andrew agreed, already half asleep.
~
Harry came to see him after a couple of days had passed. Jack was surprised once again at how much older he looked these days. He remembered the little party they had thrown in the basement kitchen a few months back to celebrate Harry's eighteenth birthday. Andrew had given him a blank, leather bound Quidditch playbook with the word 'Captain' embossed on the cover in gold.
"For later -- you know. When we're winning the World Cup for England. You and me, Captain." He suddenly adopted a serious face and snapped to attention with an elaborate salute.
Harry had grinned at that, and it was the first time many of them had seen him smile in weeks.
"Alright, mate?" Harry asked, sitting in the wooden chair by Jack's bed. The same chair where Ginny had sat only a few days earlier; the same chair where Andrew had sat only a few days before that.
"Yeah," Jack said in a voice that was stronger than he felt. "Yeah, I'm alright."
The two men were silent for a few moments, not looking at one another.
"How did he... I mean..."
"It was quick," Harry said, anticipating the question. "The ceiling beam fell right on him. Moody -- Moody said he didn't feel a thing. Probably didn't even know what was happening."
Jack nodded, wondering if that was supposed to make him feel better.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Harry said suddenly, looking up at him at last. "It's my fault."
"What?" Jack was confused. "I thought -- I mean, Ginny said you weren't even there."
"I wasn't," Harry said quickly, "but I should have been. I shouldn't have told him--"
Jack shook his head quickly and cut him off. "Don't do that, Harry." Harry blinked at him, surprised. "You're always looking for ways to blame this shit on yourself, but it isn't your fault. Andrew is... Look, we all know he was reckless. You can't blame yourself for everything that happens -- it's war! It's not your fault."
Harry continued to stare at him, and Jack grew more and more uncomfortable in his gaze. His bright green eyes seemed to darken, deepen, become hollow and distant. He sighed. "You're wrong," Harry said softly. "But anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."
Before Jack could argue, he was gone.
~
"Jack!"
Jack whirled around at the sound of his name and saw Andrew pounding up the corridor, his red Quidditch robes flying out behind him as he ran. For a moment, Jack held the image of some absurd action hero from a comic book running towards him, mahogany hair sticking out at all angles, dark eyes blazing.
"Where the hell have you been?" Andrew demanded. He ran straight up to Jack and shoved him hard in the chest.
"Hey!"
"What'd you mean," Andrew shouted, "disappearing like that? I couldn't find you. Where the bloody fuck--" Andrew had him by the shoulders and was gripping his arms painfully
"I helped them carry him to the infirmary," Jack interrupted. "Harry couldn't because of his arm, and Ginny was too upset, and..."
"Then that..." Andrew's eyes were darting around his face, and Jack suddenly realized that the strange look in them was fear. "That isn't your blood, then?" Jack shook his head slowly, realizing that he was covered in the stuff, and Andrew relaxed his grip. He released Jack's shoulders and took a couple of steps towards the infirmary door, tearing his gaze away from Jack's face only for a moment.
"So," Andrew said quietly. They stared at one another across the hallway.
"So what?" Jack asked. He leaned heavily against the wall, frowning and shifting when something dug painfully into his leg. It was only then that he realized that he was still wearing his Quidditch gear. He plucked at the laces of his wrist guard. They had worked themselves into a terrible knot.
"Will he, you know...?"
"They think he'll live," Jack said flatly. "At least, that's what they told Harry and Hermione."
"Fuck," Andrew said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "I didn't think that... I mean I never dreamed..."
"Yeah," Jack replied. None of them had ever dreamed that they could be attacked here, in broad daylight, in the middle of a bloody Quidditch match. Death Eaters skulked in darkness, turned up in places like Knockturn Alley and the Hogshead and the Forbidden Forest, but they didn't come to Hogwarts.
They didn't try to kill the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and very nearly succeed in killing his Keeper instead.
"Fuck," Andrew repeated. It seemed that was all he was capable of saying.
"Yeah," Jack agreed. He was still too stunned to really process the information. There had been so much blood. So much blood. Blood on the red robes, and in Ron's red hair. Blood on Hermione's face and blood on Ginny's hands as they tried to stop the bleeding. And blood pounding in Harry's eyes when he saw his best friend fall.
Just then, the door to the infirmary opened, and Madam Pomfrey shoved Harry and Hermione out into the hall. Harry's right arm was in a sling, wrapped in bandages to the shoulder, and he was leaning heavily on Hermione's shoulder.
Andrew scrambled to his feet and surreptitiously ducked under Harry's good arm, relieving Hermione of her burden. She stumbled forward, looking dazed, and Jack caught her.
"How is he?" Jack asked, offering Hermione an arm to lean on.
"I don't know," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, her eyes empty of tears. "We... we'll know more in the morning."
"You two look like you've been taking tea with a boggart!" Andrew announced in his booming voice as he steered Harry towards the stairs. "I think back to the tower and a couple of bottles of butterbeer--"
But Harry stopped when they were facing Jack and Hermione. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, looking Jack directly in the eye. "I won't forget this."
Jack just nodded, not knowing what to say.
There were tears in his captain's eyes.
"Both of you," Harry said, turning to Andrew. "I saw what you did with that Bludger, Kirke. They caught Dolohov because of you."
Andrew grinned. "Don't mention it," he said, coaxing Harry forward with his usual easy grace. "We know what side we're on, and now everybody else knows it too."
~
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Ron shook his head, choosing diplomatically to stare down at the chessboard rather than meet Jack's infuriated gaze.
"He wasn't even supposed to go?"
"He wasn't on the roster," Ron said, prodding one of his bishops forward to smash Jack's last remaining rook.
"Then why the bloody hell--"
Ron shrugged. "You know Kirke," he said simply.
"Yeah," Jack grumbled. "Stupid bastard."
Ron snorted back a laugh.
"He's always looking for some kind of glory," Jack said, angrily thrusting one of his pawns right into the path of Ron's queen. "I mean, it's always the same. On the Quidditch pitch, in his lessons -- but you'd think he'd draw the line at fighting the goddamned Death Eaters! Couldn't he see that this isn't some kind of game he could win points at?"
Ron didn't reply, and Jack took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The thin white curtains on the infirmary windows fluttered in a brief summer breeze.
"He was always trying to prove himself," he continued. His voice lost its edge as he reminisced. "He's the only boy and the youngest with four older sisters. Did you know that?"
"I think Charlie dated one of them for a while," Ron said with a sigh.
"I think he just wanted his parents to notice him in all of that," Jack said. "So he was as loud and as rowdy as he could be. Jump first. Ask questions later."
"Helluva good Beater," Ron said. "You and he were the second best Beater team Hogwarts ever had -- after Fred and George."
Jack shook his head slowly. "Wasn't me," he said softly. "I was just there so he'd have someone to hit the Bludger to. It was always him."
"Checkmate," Ron announced.
Jack looked down at the board, unsurprised to see most of the white pieces lying in ruins.
"You're getting better," Ron said, grinning and gathering his things, "when you don't get distracted, that is."
Jack nodded. "Next time we'll talk about the weather."
Ron put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and then grabbed his crutches, leveraging himself out of his chair. "You're getting better," he repeated as he hobbled towards the door. "Just remember that."
~
For Jack's seventeenth birthday, Andrew insisted on getting him properly smashed. He insisted that the only way to get properly smashed was to go on a pub crawl, and since Jack hadn't yet got his Apparating license, he insisted that the only way to go on a proper pub crawl was to do so in Muggle London. From Grimmauld Place it wouldn't be a long walk there, and the twins had told him all about how to hail a Taxi Cap for a ride home.
Jack had been apprehensive. Releasing Andrew among the Muggles seemed about as good an idea as releasing a pixie in a china cupboard, but in the end he gave in. He always did.
After about their third pub, Andrew got a very anxious look in his eye, asking Jack how Muggle toilets worked, at which point, Jack very nearly fell off his stool laughing. Reassured that he would be able to work a Muggle toilet, Andrew tossed Jack his wallet and told him to buy them another round.
When he returned, Jack passed him a pint, his wallet, and a rectangle of red foil with a hideous drawing of a naked woman on it.
"What's this?" he asked playfully.
Andrew promptly choked on his beer. "Bollocks," he sputtered. "Where the hell did you find that?"
"In your wallet. Behind the picture of your mum."
Andrew shoved him and Jack had to clutch the edge of the bar to keep from sliding off of his stool for the second time in one night.
"It's for emergencies," Andrew said, a wide lascivious grin spreading across his face. "I mean, what if I meet some nice Muggle girl in one of these pubs--"
"In one of these pubs? What exactly is your definition of nice?"
"And she wants to, you know, take me back to her flat or sommat. I've gotta be prepared, right?"
Andrew was beginning to slur his words and slip even deeper into the country accent his upbringing sometimes betrayed. He took a long swig of his beer and leaned over conspiratorially. "Anyway, that's a special kind, that is. Not like you'd be likely to get 'round here."
Jack frowned at him, trying to focus on his friend's ever swaying face. Andrew was a blur of dark eyes, thick eyebrows, perfectly straight nose -- a rarity on a Beater. "What's so special about it?" he asked.
Andrew leaned even closer to him and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It vibrates," he said in a very low whisper, his breath tickling the little hairs on the side of Jack's neck.
This time, Jack did fall off his chair, but he wasn't laughing.
The slam of the car door jolted Jack back to himself, and he wondered how exactly Andrew had managed to find them a cab at this hour.
"Corner of Cannery and Grimmauld Place," Andrew said to the driver, and Jack lurched back into the smelly upholstery as the car accelerated.
"Good birthday?" Andrew asked, leaning against the seats.
"The best," Jack said, a very stupid grin working its way across his face. "But you didn't find any girls."
Andrew shrugged and closed his eyes, his thick dark lashes creating two perfect crescent moons against his olive skin and impossibly high cheekbones.
Jack sighed happily. "I'm glad you didn't," he said.
"How come?" Andrew asked.
Jack felt his mouth go dry. He blinked several times, his brain trying to work through the haze of too much alcohol and smoke. He hadn't really just said that, had he?
"Nevermind," he said softly.
Andrew didn't ask again.
~
Jack stared at Andrew's peaceful face, unable to believe what he was seeing. Two perfect crescents of black lashes lay against his unmarred skin.
"He looks fine," Jack said hollowly. "Normal, even."
Ginny squeezed his hand. "He is normal," she said quietly. "His mind's still all there."
"You told him," Jack said, suddenly feeling an inexplicable rise of panic, "you told him why I couldn't come, didn't you? Ron said some of his memory was gone, so he might not have remembered that I--"
"We told him," Ginny said reassuringly.
Jack turned back to the little window in the door. "Does he--" He stopped, unable to quite finish the sentence around the horrible lump in his throat. "Does he remember--"
"You were the first person he asked for," Ginny replied before he could even finish.
"And you told him why--"
"You can tell him yourself," Ginny said firmly, yanking open the hospital room door, "as soon as he wakes up."
Jack clutched his cane fiercely as he stepped into the room. The sound of Andrew's breathing was deafening in the quiet, and Jack found himself unsure of whether the sound was a relief or a burden.
Leaning heavily on the cane he was still not accustomed to, Jack limped across to the single chair next to the bed and lowered himself into it. Andrew's eyelids fluttered, and Jack held his breath until they stilled.
"Take your time, mate," he said in a breathy whisper. "I'll be here."
~
"You are an idiot, and I don't know why I ever listen to you," Jack grunted, wrestling with the struggling Bludger in his arms.
"I'm fucking brilliant and you know it," Andrew retorted, kicking the lid of the trunk open and helping Jack strap the Bludger down.
"Let's get some fresh air, he says," Jack said, impersonating Andrew's accent. He leaned back against the lockers and dropped his broom. "Let's go for a ride."
"It was damned fine idea."
"Let's just get a Bludger out and have a proper practice."
"Hey," Andrew said, dropping his own broom into his locker, "it isn't my fault the Bludger went crazy!" He glanced down at the trunk as it gave an ominous rattle. "Maybe it's gone a bit funny, being locked up all this time."
Jack shook his head in disbelief. "And it would go straight for McGonagall's rooms."
"Knows its enemy."
"Do you have any idea what she would have done to us if we'd let a rogue Bludger crash into her sitting room? A rogue Bludger that is most certainly not supposed to be flying around with two seventh years who are also not supposed to be flying around as Quidditch has been banned for more than a year now?"
"I think I can guess. But it's criminal to outlaw Quidditch for so long! A man's got to fly."
Jack shook his head. "You act like there isn't a war on all around us."
"Well, somebody's got to." Andrew smirked. "It was fun though. Admit it."
"I've never flown so hard in my life."
"But it was fun."
"You nearly gave me apoplexy with that dive you did."
Andrew crossed the space between them and stubbed his finger against Jack's chest. "It was fun, you fucking pansy."
Jack raised one eyebrow very slowly, and then started to grin. "It was, wasn't it?"
Suddenly, Jack wasn't sure what was happening. Andrew was too close to him. Pressed up against him. Kissing him, as a matter of fact. Jack blinked and Andrew pulled away.
They stared at one another for a long silent moment.
"What was that?" Jack asked quietly.
"That," Andrew said, taking a small step backwards, "was a kiss, you wanker, and I'm a little disturbed to be having to explain it to you."
Jack shook his head, amazed that Andrew was still able to be so glib after... after whatever that was.
"A kiss," he repeated.
"Yeah," Andrew said. He reached up and rubbed a thumb over his own lips. "That OK?"
Jack stared at him.
"Because this," Andrew gestured at the absurdly small space still between them, "is important. It's not like kissing Ginny Weasley behind the greenhouses."
Jack started guiltily. "How did you know--"
"The corn has ears and the potatoes have eyes, my friend. You should know this."
"It didn't mean anything. I mean, it was just a... a thing. Everybody knows she fancies Harry anyway."
"Everybody but Harry, it seems," Andrew said with a nod, still desperately close. "So why didn't you tell me about it yourself?"
Jack shook his head. "I don't know," he said honestly.
"I know."
Andrew took a very slow, very deliberate step backward. "It's because this is different. It's not like a girl you grope behind the greenhouse or a chick you pick up in a pub, because when that's over, they're gone. But it's not like that with us."
He looked directly into Jack's eyes, and Jack hardly dared to breath, afraid of breaking whatever spell Andrew was weaving all around them.
"Because we'll always be there."
~
"Hey,"
Jack's eyes snapped open in an instant and he found two deep brown eyes staring back at him. For a moment, he wondered if he were still dreaming.
"Hey. "
"You're still here?"
Jack reached out and took Andrew's hand into his. "Of course I'm still here. How are you feeling?"
"Fucking bored."
"Good."
Andrew raised his eyebrows at him. "Explain to me exactly how that's good."
"When you get bored, you get mad."
"So?"
"When you get mad, you work harder."
"Piss off."
Jack grinned as Andrew squeezed his hand weakly. "Look, the angrier you get, the better it is for me. The sooner you're better, the sooner we can get out of this hell hole and go somewhere nice."
"I won't be able to go anywhere," Andrew said with a scowl. "If you can't use your legs, you can't hang on to a broom."
Jack rolled his eyes. "For a bright lad, you really are awfully thick. Riding a broom isn't the only way to get places."
"It's the only way to fly."
Jack shook his head. "Again, my friend, you are superbly wrong. I have heard tell of a little old wizard somewhere in Tibet who weaves the best damned flying carpets ever known to man."
Andrew snorted. "Flying carpets. What do you think I am, some little old lady?"
Jack laughed. "Alright then. No flying carpets. But we could still go to Tibet. We'll go to the Himalayas and sit on top of a mountain somewhere, and it'll be just like flying."
Andrew smiled at him. "You're an utter git, you know that."
"Course I do."
"Good. And don't you for a minute think that just because some Healer with her hair on too tight says I'm not going to ride a broom again doesn't mean that's going to stop me. I mean, look at Ron. Look at you, for that matter." Andrew did look at him then, an old familiar smile lighting up his face. "You're still here."
"Yeah," Jack said softly. "I'm still here."
First and foremost, HAPPY BIRTHDAY KRIS! I know it's come and gone in your neck of the date line, but it's not quite even the 8th here yet and I'm posting you birthday fic. Go me! And go you for making it to your 24th year, sanity intact. =D
Second, I combined two prompts on this one, polypaston's and krislaughs'. I hope you'll forgive me. In return, you both get a fic that is about four times longer than any of the others I've written for this challange so far. =) Took a little liberty with both of your prompts. Hope you don't mind. They were BRILLIANT prompts. =D
Third, the idea for a Kirke/Sloper OTP came from a single scene in Sect where Kris, while betaing, kept making slashy remarks about the two beaters on the Quidditch team. I like Jack and Andrew, and I've given them distinct personalities in Sect and Kris kept telling me I needed to write their opus. So here it is, darling.
Finally, many millions of thanks to ignipes who performed a surgical strike super fast last second pinch hit beta for me. You rock with your sentence untangling skills.
And now, without further ado:
Jack was alone when the news came. That was for the best, because it meant that no one but Ginny saw him cry. He wasn't sure he could have bucked up and made a good impression in front of Neville or Remus or even Harry. Though Harry would probably have understood. They had all seen him cry; it was part of what made him so easy to follow.
Jack didn't really remember much of the conversation. He remembered that it had been late afternoon, that the light had been coming in the window behind Ginny's head lighting up all the fine hairs around her face. She said something about a raid and an accident, and then all he heard was 'Andrew'.
He didn't even realize he was crying until he saw the dark spots on the infirmary blanket from his tears. All he could think was, I wasn't there...
~
"I can't fucking breathe!" Jack shouted against the thick down-filled sleeping bag his friends were currently trying to suffocate him with. His voice sounded muffled even to his own ears, his words swathed in polyester and feathers and fighting against the muted cacophony of laughter all around him. Someone sat on his foot. "Ouch, dammit! Get off of me, you bastards!"
Brushing his nose against the cool teeth of the zipper, Jack inhaled deeply from the little air making its way through the tiny gaps and fought down panic. He didn't like enclosed spaces very much, but he was trying very hard not to think about that.
Mustering his strength, he rolled suddenly to one side, dislodging the two or three boys into a landslide of curses and laughter. His movement no longer as restricted, he quickly grasped the zipper pull, yanking the teeth apart with one hard heave and gulping in the cool, fresh air as he blinked in the suddenly blinding light of Andrew's bedroom.
With a loud whoop, Andrew launched himself off of his tall sleigh bed and tackled Jack, sending him sprawling into the pile of bodies already rolling and laughing on the floor.
"Enough!" Andrew's mum stood in the doorway. Her tone was firm, but her eyes were twinkling. "We said you could have some mates over, Andy, not a herd of wrestling hippogriffs!"
"Mum," Andrew whined. "Don't call me that!"
"Headlock!" Walter shrieked, grabbing Terrance around the neck and swinging him to the ground.
"Enough!" Mrs. Kirke said again, putting her hands on her hips. "Lights out, you hooligans. I don't want to hear another peep until morning, or it's cold cereal for the lot of you while the rest of us have waffles."
"Peep!" Geoff squeaked, and suddenly the room was a chorus of chirps and peeping. Mrs. Kirke rolled her eyes and waved her hand at the lamps, dimming them before she shut the door.
The threat of having to watch Andrew's parents and sisters eat waffles while they had none kept the whispers and peeps to a barely audible level, and the other boys reluctantly rolled towards their own beds. When Andrew had invited him over to stay the night, Jack had, of course, brought his bedroll; so had all of the other boys. What he hadn't expected was for each of theirs to unfold into an assortment of elaborate camp beds. Walter's looked like a regular cot and smelled strongly of wet dog, Terrance's was remarkably similar to the four poster beds they all had in Gryffindor tower, only done in Slytherin colors, and Geoff's was like some sort of unholy union between an army cot and a beanbag chair with squishy bits in unlikely places.
They had all been surprised and fascinated when Jack's Muggle sleeping bag turned out to be just that: a bag to sleep in. And that was when they'd decided to see how long he could last inside of it with one of them sitting on either end.
"Oy, Sloper," Andrew whispered, hanging halfway off his own bed in an attempt to nudge Jack with his foot. "Alright?"
"Alright," Jack whispered back.
"You're not cold down there on the floor?"
"No," Jack lied. "My dad and I have slept outside in these in thirty degree weather. This is nothing."
Andrew didn't reply right away. Then, "Can I try it?"
"Wha--"
But Andrew was already rolling off his bed with a thump and fiddling with the zipper.
"No," Jack protested, "pull it down, not out -- there. But it's not really big enough--"
The sleeping bag was, however, big enough, and suddenly, there was Andrew, squirming and wiggling and yanking the zipper up around them both. He poked Jack in the ribs and Jack shook his head in wonder at the delighted grin on his friend's face.
"Well?" Jack asked. "What do you think?"
"It's brilliant," Andrew replied with a happy little wriggle. "Like being a caterpillar all done up in a cocoon."
In the darkness, Geoff snored.
"Is he always this loud?" Walter demanded.
"Every bloody night," Andrew groaned. "It's like living with a fog horn."
Terrance snickered and shifted in his bed. "Paul Parkinson snores too. Only his ends with a whistle." Terry gave a great snort and then let the air out slowly through his nose with a high pitched hum causing the others to laugh. Soon, things were quiet again except for Geoff's rumbling snores.
"Why didn't you invite Colin?" Jack asked quietly as Andrew kicked him again, trying to settle into a more comfortable position in the sleeping bag.
"I did. Mum said I couldn't invite you and Geoff and not invite him, but his da wouldn't let him come." He rolled over to look at Jack with sleepy eyes, nearly taking Jack's nose off with his elbow in the process. "Your parents are awfully cool for Muggles," he said around an enormous yawn.
Jack shrugged. This was high praise from a mate who had grown up so isolated in the wizard world that he actually believed it when his uncle Marty told him that Muggles all had purple fur and a yellow horn growing out of their foreheads.
"They're alright," Jack said. "They don't really get it -- magic, I mean, but I guess they just want me to be happy."
"Mmmfh," Andrew agreed, already half asleep.
~
Harry came to see him after a couple of days had passed. Jack was surprised once again at how much older he looked these days. He remembered the little party they had thrown in the basement kitchen a few months back to celebrate Harry's eighteenth birthday. Andrew had given him a blank, leather bound Quidditch playbook with the word 'Captain' embossed on the cover in gold.
"For later -- you know. When we're winning the World Cup for England. You and me, Captain." He suddenly adopted a serious face and snapped to attention with an elaborate salute.
Harry had grinned at that, and it was the first time many of them had seen him smile in weeks.
"Alright, mate?" Harry asked, sitting in the wooden chair by Jack's bed. The same chair where Ginny had sat only a few days earlier; the same chair where Andrew had sat only a few days before that.
"Yeah," Jack said in a voice that was stronger than he felt. "Yeah, I'm alright."
The two men were silent for a few moments, not looking at one another.
"How did he... I mean..."
"It was quick," Harry said, anticipating the question. "The ceiling beam fell right on him. Moody -- Moody said he didn't feel a thing. Probably didn't even know what was happening."
Jack nodded, wondering if that was supposed to make him feel better.
"I'm sorry, Jack," Harry said suddenly, looking up at him at last. "It's my fault."
"What?" Jack was confused. "I thought -- I mean, Ginny said you weren't even there."
"I wasn't," Harry said quickly, "but I should have been. I shouldn't have told him--"
Jack shook his head quickly and cut him off. "Don't do that, Harry." Harry blinked at him, surprised. "You're always looking for ways to blame this shit on yourself, but it isn't your fault. Andrew is... Look, we all know he was reckless. You can't blame yourself for everything that happens -- it's war! It's not your fault."
Harry continued to stare at him, and Jack grew more and more uncomfortable in his gaze. His bright green eyes seemed to darken, deepen, become hollow and distant. He sighed. "You're wrong," Harry said softly. "But anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."
Before Jack could argue, he was gone.
~
"Jack!"
Jack whirled around at the sound of his name and saw Andrew pounding up the corridor, his red Quidditch robes flying out behind him as he ran. For a moment, Jack held the image of some absurd action hero from a comic book running towards him, mahogany hair sticking out at all angles, dark eyes blazing.
"Where the hell have you been?" Andrew demanded. He ran straight up to Jack and shoved him hard in the chest.
"Hey!"
"What'd you mean," Andrew shouted, "disappearing like that? I couldn't find you. Where the bloody fuck--" Andrew had him by the shoulders and was gripping his arms painfully
"I helped them carry him to the infirmary," Jack interrupted. "Harry couldn't because of his arm, and Ginny was too upset, and..."
"Then that..." Andrew's eyes were darting around his face, and Jack suddenly realized that the strange look in them was fear. "That isn't your blood, then?" Jack shook his head slowly, realizing that he was covered in the stuff, and Andrew relaxed his grip. He released Jack's shoulders and took a couple of steps towards the infirmary door, tearing his gaze away from Jack's face only for a moment.
"So," Andrew said quietly. They stared at one another across the hallway.
"So what?" Jack asked. He leaned heavily against the wall, frowning and shifting when something dug painfully into his leg. It was only then that he realized that he was still wearing his Quidditch gear. He plucked at the laces of his wrist guard. They had worked themselves into a terrible knot.
"Will he, you know...?"
"They think he'll live," Jack said flatly. "At least, that's what they told Harry and Hermione."
"Fuck," Andrew said, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. "I didn't think that... I mean I never dreamed..."
"Yeah," Jack replied. None of them had ever dreamed that they could be attacked here, in broad daylight, in the middle of a bloody Quidditch match. Death Eaters skulked in darkness, turned up in places like Knockturn Alley and the Hogshead and the Forbidden Forest, but they didn't come to Hogwarts.
They didn't try to kill the Gryffindor Quidditch captain and very nearly succeed in killing his Keeper instead.
"Fuck," Andrew repeated. It seemed that was all he was capable of saying.
"Yeah," Jack agreed. He was still too stunned to really process the information. There had been so much blood. So much blood. Blood on the red robes, and in Ron's red hair. Blood on Hermione's face and blood on Ginny's hands as they tried to stop the bleeding. And blood pounding in Harry's eyes when he saw his best friend fall.
Just then, the door to the infirmary opened, and Madam Pomfrey shoved Harry and Hermione out into the hall. Harry's right arm was in a sling, wrapped in bandages to the shoulder, and he was leaning heavily on Hermione's shoulder.
Andrew scrambled to his feet and surreptitiously ducked under Harry's good arm, relieving Hermione of her burden. She stumbled forward, looking dazed, and Jack caught her.
"How is he?" Jack asked, offering Hermione an arm to lean on.
"I don't know," she said, her voice devoid of emotion, her eyes empty of tears. "We... we'll know more in the morning."
"You two look like you've been taking tea with a boggart!" Andrew announced in his booming voice as he steered Harry towards the stairs. "I think back to the tower and a couple of bottles of butterbeer--"
But Harry stopped when they were facing Jack and Hermione. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, looking Jack directly in the eye. "I won't forget this."
Jack just nodded, not knowing what to say.
There were tears in his captain's eyes.
"Both of you," Harry said, turning to Andrew. "I saw what you did with that Bludger, Kirke. They caught Dolohov because of you."
Andrew grinned. "Don't mention it," he said, coaxing Harry forward with his usual easy grace. "We know what side we're on, and now everybody else knows it too."
~
"Are you fucking kidding me?"
Ron shook his head, choosing diplomatically to stare down at the chessboard rather than meet Jack's infuriated gaze.
"He wasn't even supposed to go?"
"He wasn't on the roster," Ron said, prodding one of his bishops forward to smash Jack's last remaining rook.
"Then why the bloody hell--"
Ron shrugged. "You know Kirke," he said simply.
"Yeah," Jack grumbled. "Stupid bastard."
Ron snorted back a laugh.
"He's always looking for some kind of glory," Jack said, angrily thrusting one of his pawns right into the path of Ron's queen. "I mean, it's always the same. On the Quidditch pitch, in his lessons -- but you'd think he'd draw the line at fighting the goddamned Death Eaters! Couldn't he see that this isn't some kind of game he could win points at?"
Ron didn't reply, and Jack took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. The thin white curtains on the infirmary windows fluttered in a brief summer breeze.
"He was always trying to prove himself," he continued. His voice lost its edge as he reminisced. "He's the only boy and the youngest with four older sisters. Did you know that?"
"I think Charlie dated one of them for a while," Ron said with a sigh.
"I think he just wanted his parents to notice him in all of that," Jack said. "So he was as loud and as rowdy as he could be. Jump first. Ask questions later."
"Helluva good Beater," Ron said. "You and he were the second best Beater team Hogwarts ever had -- after Fred and George."
Jack shook his head slowly. "Wasn't me," he said softly. "I was just there so he'd have someone to hit the Bludger to. It was always him."
"Checkmate," Ron announced.
Jack looked down at the board, unsurprised to see most of the white pieces lying in ruins.
"You're getting better," Ron said, grinning and gathering his things, "when you don't get distracted, that is."
Jack nodded. "Next time we'll talk about the weather."
Ron put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and then grabbed his crutches, leveraging himself out of his chair. "You're getting better," he repeated as he hobbled towards the door. "Just remember that."
~
For Jack's seventeenth birthday, Andrew insisted on getting him properly smashed. He insisted that the only way to get properly smashed was to go on a pub crawl, and since Jack hadn't yet got his Apparating license, he insisted that the only way to go on a proper pub crawl was to do so in Muggle London. From Grimmauld Place it wouldn't be a long walk there, and the twins had told him all about how to hail a Taxi Cap for a ride home.
Jack had been apprehensive. Releasing Andrew among the Muggles seemed about as good an idea as releasing a pixie in a china cupboard, but in the end he gave in. He always did.
After about their third pub, Andrew got a very anxious look in his eye, asking Jack how Muggle toilets worked, at which point, Jack very nearly fell off his stool laughing. Reassured that he would be able to work a Muggle toilet, Andrew tossed Jack his wallet and told him to buy them another round.
When he returned, Jack passed him a pint, his wallet, and a rectangle of red foil with a hideous drawing of a naked woman on it.
"What's this?" he asked playfully.
Andrew promptly choked on his beer. "Bollocks," he sputtered. "Where the hell did you find that?"
"In your wallet. Behind the picture of your mum."
Andrew shoved him and Jack had to clutch the edge of the bar to keep from sliding off of his stool for the second time in one night.
"It's for emergencies," Andrew said, a wide lascivious grin spreading across his face. "I mean, what if I meet some nice Muggle girl in one of these pubs--"
"In one of these pubs? What exactly is your definition of nice?"
"And she wants to, you know, take me back to her flat or sommat. I've gotta be prepared, right?"
Andrew was beginning to slur his words and slip even deeper into the country accent his upbringing sometimes betrayed. He took a long swig of his beer and leaned over conspiratorially. "Anyway, that's a special kind, that is. Not like you'd be likely to get 'round here."
Jack frowned at him, trying to focus on his friend's ever swaying face. Andrew was a blur of dark eyes, thick eyebrows, perfectly straight nose -- a rarity on a Beater. "What's so special about it?" he asked.
Andrew leaned even closer to him and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "It vibrates," he said in a very low whisper, his breath tickling the little hairs on the side of Jack's neck.
This time, Jack did fall off his chair, but he wasn't laughing.
The slam of the car door jolted Jack back to himself, and he wondered how exactly Andrew had managed to find them a cab at this hour.
"Corner of Cannery and Grimmauld Place," Andrew said to the driver, and Jack lurched back into the smelly upholstery as the car accelerated.
"Good birthday?" Andrew asked, leaning against the seats.
"The best," Jack said, a very stupid grin working its way across his face. "But you didn't find any girls."
Andrew shrugged and closed his eyes, his thick dark lashes creating two perfect crescent moons against his olive skin and impossibly high cheekbones.
Jack sighed happily. "I'm glad you didn't," he said.
"How come?" Andrew asked.
Jack felt his mouth go dry. He blinked several times, his brain trying to work through the haze of too much alcohol and smoke. He hadn't really just said that, had he?
"Nevermind," he said softly.
Andrew didn't ask again.
~
Jack stared at Andrew's peaceful face, unable to believe what he was seeing. Two perfect crescents of black lashes lay against his unmarred skin.
"He looks fine," Jack said hollowly. "Normal, even."
Ginny squeezed his hand. "He is normal," she said quietly. "His mind's still all there."
"You told him," Jack said, suddenly feeling an inexplicable rise of panic, "you told him why I couldn't come, didn't you? Ron said some of his memory was gone, so he might not have remembered that I--"
"We told him," Ginny said reassuringly.
Jack turned back to the little window in the door. "Does he--" He stopped, unable to quite finish the sentence around the horrible lump in his throat. "Does he remember--"
"You were the first person he asked for," Ginny replied before he could even finish.
"And you told him why--"
"You can tell him yourself," Ginny said firmly, yanking open the hospital room door, "as soon as he wakes up."
Jack clutched his cane fiercely as he stepped into the room. The sound of Andrew's breathing was deafening in the quiet, and Jack found himself unsure of whether the sound was a relief or a burden.
Leaning heavily on the cane he was still not accustomed to, Jack limped across to the single chair next to the bed and lowered himself into it. Andrew's eyelids fluttered, and Jack held his breath until they stilled.
"Take your time, mate," he said in a breathy whisper. "I'll be here."
~
"You are an idiot, and I don't know why I ever listen to you," Jack grunted, wrestling with the struggling Bludger in his arms.
"I'm fucking brilliant and you know it," Andrew retorted, kicking the lid of the trunk open and helping Jack strap the Bludger down.
"Let's get some fresh air, he says," Jack said, impersonating Andrew's accent. He leaned back against the lockers and dropped his broom. "Let's go for a ride."
"It was damned fine idea."
"Let's just get a Bludger out and have a proper practice."
"Hey," Andrew said, dropping his own broom into his locker, "it isn't my fault the Bludger went crazy!" He glanced down at the trunk as it gave an ominous rattle. "Maybe it's gone a bit funny, being locked up all this time."
Jack shook his head in disbelief. "And it would go straight for McGonagall's rooms."
"Knows its enemy."
"Do you have any idea what she would have done to us if we'd let a rogue Bludger crash into her sitting room? A rogue Bludger that is most certainly not supposed to be flying around with two seventh years who are also not supposed to be flying around as Quidditch has been banned for more than a year now?"
"I think I can guess. But it's criminal to outlaw Quidditch for so long! A man's got to fly."
Jack shook his head. "You act like there isn't a war on all around us."
"Well, somebody's got to." Andrew smirked. "It was fun though. Admit it."
"I've never flown so hard in my life."
"But it was fun."
"You nearly gave me apoplexy with that dive you did."
Andrew crossed the space between them and stubbed his finger against Jack's chest. "It was fun, you fucking pansy."
Jack raised one eyebrow very slowly, and then started to grin. "It was, wasn't it?"
Suddenly, Jack wasn't sure what was happening. Andrew was too close to him. Pressed up against him. Kissing him, as a matter of fact. Jack blinked and Andrew pulled away.
They stared at one another for a long silent moment.
"What was that?" Jack asked quietly.
"That," Andrew said, taking a small step backwards, "was a kiss, you wanker, and I'm a little disturbed to be having to explain it to you."
Jack shook his head, amazed that Andrew was still able to be so glib after... after whatever that was.
"A kiss," he repeated.
"Yeah," Andrew said. He reached up and rubbed a thumb over his own lips. "That OK?"
Jack stared at him.
"Because this," Andrew gestured at the absurdly small space still between them, "is important. It's not like kissing Ginny Weasley behind the greenhouses."
Jack started guiltily. "How did you know--"
"The corn has ears and the potatoes have eyes, my friend. You should know this."
"It didn't mean anything. I mean, it was just a... a thing. Everybody knows she fancies Harry anyway."
"Everybody but Harry, it seems," Andrew said with a nod, still desperately close. "So why didn't you tell me about it yourself?"
Jack shook his head. "I don't know," he said honestly.
"I know."
Andrew took a very slow, very deliberate step backward. "It's because this is different. It's not like a girl you grope behind the greenhouse or a chick you pick up in a pub, because when that's over, they're gone. But it's not like that with us."
He looked directly into Jack's eyes, and Jack hardly dared to breath, afraid of breaking whatever spell Andrew was weaving all around them.
"Because we'll always be there."
~
"Hey,"
Jack's eyes snapped open in an instant and he found two deep brown eyes staring back at him. For a moment, he wondered if he were still dreaming.
"Hey. "
"You're still here?"
Jack reached out and took Andrew's hand into his. "Of course I'm still here. How are you feeling?"
"Fucking bored."
"Good."
Andrew raised his eyebrows at him. "Explain to me exactly how that's good."
"When you get bored, you get mad."
"So?"
"When you get mad, you work harder."
"Piss off."
Jack grinned as Andrew squeezed his hand weakly. "Look, the angrier you get, the better it is for me. The sooner you're better, the sooner we can get out of this hell hole and go somewhere nice."
"I won't be able to go anywhere," Andrew said with a scowl. "If you can't use your legs, you can't hang on to a broom."
Jack rolled his eyes. "For a bright lad, you really are awfully thick. Riding a broom isn't the only way to get places."
"It's the only way to fly."
Jack shook his head. "Again, my friend, you are superbly wrong. I have heard tell of a little old wizard somewhere in Tibet who weaves the best damned flying carpets ever known to man."
Andrew snorted. "Flying carpets. What do you think I am, some little old lady?"
Jack laughed. "Alright then. No flying carpets. But we could still go to Tibet. We'll go to the Himalayas and sit on top of a mountain somewhere, and it'll be just like flying."
Andrew smiled at him. "You're an utter git, you know that."
"Course I do."
"Good. And don't you for a minute think that just because some Healer with her hair on too tight says I'm not going to ride a broom again doesn't mean that's going to stop me. I mean, look at Ron. Look at you, for that matter." Andrew did look at him then, an old familiar smile lighting up his face. "You're still here."
"Yeah," Jack said softly. "I'm still here."