Sunny Suzuki and the Stupid Traitorous Rat

Hagrid never got lost, not while in the dense woods of the Forbidden Forest, even less so by its shore. That was a fact as true as any fundamental law of nature as far as Albus was concerned, and yet, somehow, he had been guided back to the same beautiful oak tree a third time on this serene Sunday morning, and Hagrid still wore that same set look of determination on his face, as if he thought nothing was amiss. 

“I’m sure o’ it, I am– it was this way. I know it!”

“Of course, my dear friend. Let us keep going, I know we are getting closer.”

Albus didn’t mention the curiosity. Not yet. The worst thing one could do when learning through observation was temper with the reference. He could do little to help until he knew what exactly was distorting Hagrid’s firm sense of direction, so instead of correcting his friend as they ventured through a path they’d already explored many times beforehand, he merely followed and made newer observations of the delicate nuances of their trail. Look, right there– almost hidden beneath a thick arching root, small young astilbes were growing, falling sunlight enveloping them in a gentle glow. Breathtaking. 

It was early dawn, and they’d been walking for an hour. The sky was a most charming shade of dark blue and cool grey, streaks of clouds spreading across the heavens in a loving embrace, a romance that Albus was fortunate to witness after such a dreary night the day before. Halloween had always been difficult for every member of the staff who knew the Potters, but this year moreso. Sirius’ escape left a bitter aftertaste in even the sweetest sugary treat. He was endlessly thankful that the students managed to enjoy themselves despite it all.

A few more minutes passed, in which they crossed that oak tree two more times. When they reached it a third additional time, Albus stopped walking, humming lowly to himself as he ran a hand down his beard. 

How peculiar. 

He raised a hand to gesture them into a stop, glancing around. “Wait just a moment.” 

Hagrid, who had been walking a few feet in front of him, paused in his tracks. He turned around, looking back at Albus. “Sir?” 

“There’s something a bit strange about all this. Allow me to lead just this once, my friend. I believe we may get there faster should we follow a less straightforward path.” 

“Oh… alrigh’, yeah, sure thing sir.” 

Albus smiled at Hagrid with a grateful nod before stepping forward, grass crunching beneath his feet as he moved across to the oak tree. It was the only recurring landmark he could pin-point with clarity, and that must mean something. He extended his wrinkled hand and closed his eyes, gently pressing his palm against the rough bark of the trunk and letting its rasped ridges sink softly into his skin. 

He opened his mind. 

The familiar hum of the air slowly grew more and more tangible, a thousand rivers of swirling energy gradually running thicker to his senses as they drifted and pulsed around them in gentle tides. Magic from the roots of the trees vibrated in a harmonious tune with the growing grass and shifts of the wind, and although Albus dearly wished to stand there for hours and take it all in, there was something specific he was looking for. 

It took much, much longer than it should have for him to find it. 

The abnormality.

It was not a river, nor a string, nor a hum. It was a wave. An ocean, almost, a push and pull that melted seamlessly with every other vibrant and individual pulse of magic. No wonder it took Albus so long to find. It had camouflaged itself, mirroring every motion around itself and fading amongst the sea of colours. But while near flawless in its reflective nature, it was still off in a way that felt strangely familiar. There was this slight difference in its melody that once spotted was rather hard to miss. A fading thing, just barely an echo of what was there before, an echo he was fortunate to have been able to note.

He smiled.

“Did yeh find somethin’, sir?”

Hagrid’s voice sounded distant, but Albus could still hear it ring clear through his concentration. He took a moment to guide himself back to reality, to allow himself to feel only the texture of the rough bark against his hand rather than the hum of its magic around the air. Bit by bit the pulses fell quiet, and he opened his eyes, removing his hand.

Albus turned to Hagrid, about to nod. But strangely, a hesitancy bloomed inside of him, growing stronger and louder every passing moment. Sharing his findings felt wrong out of the blue. A curious thing. He took a mental step back, digging into his mind, trying to find the source of this new reluctance. He trusted his instincts, but something about this felt… odd. What was the logic his unconscious mind wanted to tell him? He pried further. He should observe more, perhaps, investigate deeper. He should look into this without his friend’s aid, just to be more cautious. 

This wave he found, this strange reflective energy– 

It felt like a secret.

A fascinating sensation, for Albus knew it was no such thing. 

Eventually he managed a nod, a motion that felt too forceful. As soon as he did, the hesitancy lifted. It was a burdenful weight off his shoulders, and only now that it had fled did Albus realize just how heavy and oppressive it originally was. 

Hm. Interesting. 

He’d think more of this later. 

Albus began to walk, heading towards the wave’s source.  

“I believe I know where to go. Come this way, Professor.”

Hagrid followed right behind. 

.

..

.

Albus knew from Hagrid’s account that the wreckage was severe. But even then he didn’t expect something quite like this.

It was a perfect circle of destruction, upturned grass and ripped branches, exploded trunks and dried scattered leaves. The rising sun bled easily through all the openings the devastation created, basking the grass in a soft saffron light and casting long dark blue shadows that reached across the ground like skeletal hands. Albus allowed his eyes to wander from spot to spot, taking his time to look around properly. 

Dear Atticus was right about one thing. No ordinary thirteen year old boy could’ve done this. 

“You found him here… weeks ago, you said?” Albus asked although he knew the answer, not taking his eyes off of the surroundings. The ‘waves’ he’d been following were gone as they were no longer by the shore– they’d plunged into the waters, swam in too deep to feel its pulse. It was both a good thing and not. On one hand, he knew he was in the right place, but on the other, it was very, very difficult to observe the traces of the energy with clarity when his senses were so terribly oversaturated by the wounds of the Forest’s agitated magic. 

Hagrid pointed to a tall, arching tree, the only one who wasn’t shredded or broken in any shape or form. “Yes sir. He was sitting righ’ there. I don’ know wha’ happened here, Harry said it wa’ like this when he found ‘im.” 

Was that right?

Albus walked across, all the way to the tree, and felt no difference when he arrived. No gentle push of a barrier, no protection, nothing that would explain why it was so untouched. The only explanation he could think of was that the threat, whatever it was, originated there. 

He paused, humming lowly to himself and running a hand down his beard. 

He considered.  

This incident happened weeks ago. That, by far, was the most notable thing in this situation. Even weeks later, the Forest had failed to heal itself, unable to cure but a dent in all this havoc. That could mean an infinite number of things, but Albus suspected three options the most. Either it was the Forest itself that did this as retribution for some insult Sunny committed, the original threat had come back to continue its work again after its first attack, or, perhaps, the threat had never fully left at all. 

Albus paused at that last option. Considered a bit more. He’d been following echoes until now, traces of what was once there, tangible memories from the surroundings that suffered the events. 

But perhaps he should’ve been trying to find whatever was left of the original energy itself. 

“Allow me a moment of silence, Hagrid,” ordered Albus gently, and then he crouched down and closed his eyes, reaching out a hand. 

He brushed his fingers across the grass, the thin soft bladed tips, and at the merest touch he could feel it. Not an echo, not a memory. Something else. He opened his eyes. There was nothing to see, but the fact he could still feel it confirmed its nature. Echoes and lesser veins of magic were difficult to grasp. This, however, now that he could recognize the feeling, was difficult to ignore. 

It was a sharp tingle, a residual thrumming that hummed right above the earth, a magic that was so vast it hadn’t yet been processed through the soil and instead settled over the dirt. An unfamiliar magic, to his mild surprise. And not just unfamiliar. Obscured. 

Albus tilted his head.

How curious. It was shielding itself. 

Pure and light and disconnected, unshackled from any link or source in ways that strings of magic never were. Energy cannot be created nor destroyed, a famous muggle phrase from dear Julius Mayer that was flawless in its succinct and factual nature. Magic, too, followed the rule stated by this astounding mind. Different from what so many wizards believed, nothing in this world, magical or otherwise, was conceived by nothing. It always, without exception, had a source. Be it its caster, a person, a concept, an item or relic or nature itself.  

Yet still he felt the magic and nothing else. No link, no chain, no source, no pond from which the river ran. 

Hidden it was, and hidden masterfully no doubt. 

The question now was why? 

“I would like,” he began, speaking slowly so as to not break his focus. Although the energy lingered, it was still progressively fading, and he was averse to accidentally letting what little he could grasp slip away so soon. “To speak with the boy.” 

“Yeh mean Harry?” 

“No.”

Albus stood, and felt the energy dwindle away from his fingers like running sand. He did not try to hold it. He knew it’d be futile. Instead, he concentrated on the unnatural hyperesthesia that coalesced around his skin and wrote every detail of the magic’s trace into memory. 

There was a gentleness dancing within the invisible that even such dense obscurity could not hide, something that wasn’t quite fond, but still diligent with unmistakable caution. 

Curiouser and curiouser. 

All too soon it withered entirely, a fate bestowed upon all precious things. Albus allowed his hand to drop.

“I wish to speak with young Suzuki, whenever possible. No urgency in my request, no, no, I only wish for a conversation. I believe he may know a bit more about what caused this destruction.” 

Hagrid made a noise at the back of his throat. “Yeh… yeh don’ think he had anythin’ to do with this, sir?” 

Albus turned around in time to see the worried frown, the nervous fists that closed and tightened again and again by Hagrid’s sides. 

He hesitated, a reluctance none would notice but himself. 

Hagrid was a good man. He’d known this since the first time he glanced the other’s way. Loyal, kind, brave, and above all, sincere. Honorable traits, ones that drew Albus to him so many years ago. But a man’s strength was often his folly, and Albus did not want to risk Sunny’s privacy to Hagrid’s capricious and oversharing honesty. 

It felt like a secret.

And this time, Albus agreed. 

“No,” he lied, shaking his head. “But there’s a small chance of unintentional complicity with, or knowledge of, whatever creature that did. An unlikely possibility I wish to entertain for caution’s sake.”

“Ah… okay.” Hagrid nodded, visibly unhappy but satisfied with the answer. 

“I would prefer if you kept this quiet, dear Hagrid.” 

“Yeah, o’ course sir.” 

“Thank you.” 

A few more minutes passed where they did little other than linger, with Albus trying to gather any additional information as much as he could. There wasn’t anything new he could find, however, so it didn’t take long until they decided to leave. 

While they followed their trail back to the castle, Albus hummed a tune to himself. 

Hopefully they’d arrive before breakfast. 

He needed to write a letter after all. 

—

There was this special type of ‘blindness’ that almost every kid experienced at one point in their life. That of staring straight into the flickering flames of a burning candle, out of curiosity or boredom or some whole other reason, only to look away and find that the world was speckled with small black blotches right where the light once reached the eyes. 

In a way, that’s how Sunny felt right now. Repeating Goldstein’s last few words over and over in his head, staring straight into the fire for longer and longer periods of time only to blink and be left more blind to any form of comprehension than he started with. 

“...what did you just say?” he whispered, voice thin, just barely loud enough to be heard. 

Sunny didn’t need the words to be repeated. Not really. But at the same time, he did. He really did. Just to make sure he didn’t make them up in his head somehow, that he wasn’t going crazy. 

What’s your dog’s name?

There was no way he knew. Absolutely no way. 

“Your dog,” said Goldstein after a beat, slower this time. He tilted his head. “What did you name it?” 

His heart picked up in pace as his mind kicked to spiral a million miles per hour, scrambling and picking apart every memory he could dig into of the last three months. He found nothing. Absolutely nothing that could incriminate him. Not in this. Not so soon after the fact.

“H-how do you know–” about Sirius. “–about my dog?” 

A pause. Then Goldstein giggled, a light sound that was way too amused. “Oh, relax for once, would you Suzuki? If I’d wished to tattle on you for something so small, I would’ve done so already.”

Something so small. 

Something so small. 

Something so small. 

Sunny repeated the words in his head, brought the candle flame closer to his eyes, let himself go blind blind blind with the blotches of deliberate naivety. You know what, he’d choose to believe this. Goldstein didn’t know. Well, didn’t know know. He knew something alright, but not everything. Not everything.

It was fine. This was fine. Everything was okay.

Everything was fine. 

He wasn’t fucked. 

“...so,” began Goldstein after the quiet stretched too long. He gestured vaguely with his hand, raising an eyebrow. “The name?”

Sunny inhaled deeply through his nose, sighing even deeper out the same way. 

Calm. Down. 

“R-right,” he mumbled, the word accidentally tumbling out. He cleared his throat, and somehow managed to get his voice above mumble. “It’s, uhm. It’s Hector.” 

For some reason Goldstein straight-up frowned. As if the name was somehow insulting. 

“Hector?” He huffed. “A dull name for a dog.” 

With that pompous ass comment– this guy definitely named his pets ‘Aristotle’ and ‘Odyssey’ and shit like that– he turned around, continuing to walk with a nonchalance that left a stumped Sunny rooted to his spot a few feet behind. Sunny watched him go for a little while longer, because well fuck him that’s why, half waiting for his heart and everything to calm the hell down and half wanting to hex that guy in the back. 

After about ten seconds or so he drew in a deep, deep, deep breath in his nose, breathed out slowly through his mouth, and nodded minutely to himself. Okay. Okay, this– this was fine. He needed to pull himself together and stop panicking at every little thing. This was okay. He was great. He was so good. Super calm and collected and perfect. Yup, yup, yup. 

Goldstein was not waiting for him to snap out of his shock, so once he finally did Sunny had to rush a little, breaking into a quick jog that didn’t last too long before slowing down beside him. 

“How did you know?” he asked, voice steady and not at all breathy or hissy because he was very calm and collected and all the other shit stated before. Sunny cleared his throat. “A-about my dog, I mean.” 

Goldstein gave him an honest-to-God side-eye, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you joking?” 

“...no?” 

“Great heavens, you really are daft,” muttered Goldstein to himself as if it was a goddamn revelation. 

Sunny glared, a flash of sharp annoyance momentarily overpowering the quickly evaporating anxiety. Rude. Goldstein ignored the deadly expression growing on his face and continued without batting an eye. 

“We look out at sunrises and sunsets from the very same window, Suzuki. My bed is right above yours. I imagine you have the luxury of a windowsill, but there is a gap between the end of my mattress and the glass. Sound travels, my dear friend. Every word you’ve ever exchanged with your cat or uttered in your sleep I’ve heard with an infuriating clarity.”

“Oh,” said Sunny, the sound just slipping out. His eyes slid down to stare at the ground, right where his gut had fallen to, everything inside of him just sinking. “...oh.”

Goldstein snorted, sounding too amused as he turned to fully look at Sunny's way, wearing that damn smirk. “You never do look up, do you?” 

Sunny swallowed. Forcing the next few words out was a struggle. “W-what… type of stuff did you hear?” 

It couldn’t have been anything important, right? No. No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t talk to Mewo that much. Not about the important things anyway. Maybe he mentioned Sirius after last night or something, maybe even before then, but even if he did he always called him ‘the Dog’ didn’t he? He wasn’t stupid. Yeah, no, he was sure of it, he was always a little too paranoid about people listening in to everything he was saying and maybe this time said paranoia was paying off. There was no way he spilled something. The only reason he ever made himself verbally say more shit to her anyway was to whisper compliments and give her assurances and little kisses… and… and other equally stupid stuff, really. He racked through every memory in his brain and tried to find something that would incriminate him or out him or anything along those lines– he couldn’t find anything. There better not be anything. 

Goldstein hummed, tapping his chin with an exaggeratedly thoughtful expression. 

“Hmmm. I trust you know the trolley problem, yes?” 

Sunny blinked, what the fuck does that have to do with anything, and looked back up from the ground. His brows twitched into a confused frown, and upon seeing the look on his face, Goldstein’s devilish grin only grew wider. 

“It’s my turn to ask a question now.”

…oh. Right. Their ‘deal’, or whatever this was. 

Sunny stared, waiting. Goldstein took the agreement as it was and nodded, pointing a finger dramatically to the ceiling.

“Here it is! I present to you the most treacherous of dilemmas– train tracks, screaming victims, humans who have lived entire lives and have such bright, promising futures, and a lever that decides their final fate… you’re already familiar with all this I’m sure. Let us move on to the point.” 

Goldstein picked up his pace a little, walking past Sunny and turning around, continuing to walk but going backwards so that he could be face-to-face with him.

“There are four people on the tracks. They can be of whatever age and nature that you wish, personalize this world to your desires. All I want is your unfiltered honesty, to see the very core of your being…! Ahem. On the left side are three of those four individuals, three people whose fate have already been sealed. The train is charging towards them at a brutal, relentless speed, and if nothing is done they will soon perish, a tragedy, and their souls will join the blessed high heavens above. You, Suzuki, have the power to change that. Only a ten second jog away from you is a lever. You may flip it, and alter the course of their destinies. However, on the other side, in the cruelest twists of fate, is your friend.. If you wish, you may not move at all. Allow the predestined fate of the tracks to run its course, not stain your hands with the blood of a companion, one who is tied up just like the others. Sobbing and begging you to make the right decision.”

Goldstein stopped walking, suddenly grabbing Sunny’s shoulders so quickly that he jolted. Warn a guy, jeez. His eyes were dramatically wide, and he leaned in close, voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. 

“Now, tell me Suzuki. What, in your heart of hearts, is the right decision?” 

One hand let go of his shoulders, tapping Sunny’s chest. 

“Would you flip the switch? Sacrifice your friend for the greater good?” 

If Sunny were forced to describe this entire situation in one word, ‘uncomfortable’ would be one hell of an understatement. He swallowed thick and slowly brought his hands up to peel Goldstein’s grip away from his shoulders, which wasn’t that hard to do since the guy was just gripping him for the one-second long dramatic effect or something, and took a small step back. 

Truth was, he wasn’t sure. 

And that. That was what made him most uncomfortable, outside of Goldstein’s lack of spatial awareness. 

Sunny tried to think of Kel, or Basil, or Hero, Aubrey, M– anyone he knew and cared for. He thought of them on the track, and he knew what they would say, what the ‘right decision’ would be in their eyes. Save the others. That was what every single one of them would want him to do. To flip the lever. Save the others. Flip the lever. Save the others. Flip the lever, flip the lever, flip the lever flip the lever and essentially just kill them–

His gut twisted and he swallowed down a sickening sensation of nausea. 

Goldstein waited ever so enthusiastic for his answer, but as the seconds ticked on, Sunny remained quiet. He almost thought that would piss the guy off somehow, but apparently silence was an answer enough. Goldstein nodded, letting out an understanding ‘ah’ noise as he crossed his arms. 

“I see, I see. You would sacrifice the strangers, wouldn’t you? Hm! Look at that. Selfish little bastard, aren’t you?”

Sunny’s hand curled into fists at his sides. 

He felt sick. 

“What type of stuff did you hear,” he hissed through gritted teeth. 

Goldstein’s grin widened. “Ah, ah, ah~. You didn’t answer last time. That didn’t count.” 

“You–”

“But not to worry dearest friend, I’ll give you the gift of another chance! You don’t even have to thank me for it.” 

Sunny glared. Glared deep. 

Bitch. 

“Reckon we ought to make things a bit different this time though,” said Goldstein, and he began to walk again while still going backwards to face Sunny who, after a quiet sigh, followed suit. “You’re alright with that I’m sure?”

Sunny said nothing. Goldstein grinned. That damn grin. That stupid, stupid, stupid calculated amusement. 

“Perfect~! Alright, envision the same scenario as before. Except this time, it is not the strangers whose fate have been sealed. The train is rumbling, running, rushing, rampaging, getting ever closer to your darling who is helpless to its deadly prowess– they are screaming and crying, so heartbreakingly desperate… and, with a single flip of the switch, you can save them. What do you do, Suzuki? Do you leave them to die? Do you slaughter three others mercilessly to save one damned soul?”

“You can’t leave me again–”

Sunny’s nails dug into his palm. He allowed his expression to empty, allowed the fuzzy emptiness growing in his gut to spread up to his skull. Stopped a single sign of anything from breaching through. If Goldstein wanted to have his fun with that stupid, twisted, smiling and grinning little ‘mask’ of his, then Sunny would return the goddamn favor. He wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. He refused. 

He wanted to open his mouth. To say no, he wouldn’t flip the switch, wouldn’t go in and pick and choose who he thought should live and who he thought should die. He wouldn’t play God. 

But his throat was clogged. 

He stayed silent. 

Goldstein waited. And, just like before, he took the silence as an answer. 

“...you wouldn’t flip it? Again?” 

Sunny said nothing. 

“Hm. Perhaps you’re not selfish, then. Just useless.” 

Just useless. 

That shouldn’t have struck him. It shouldn’t have. But something about the disappointed sigh that followed the word, something about the way Goldstein turned back around to normal and slowed his pace, effectively ending the special dynamic of their game, something about the way it was said– it cut in somewhere deep, and the clog in Sunny’s throat twisted into an agonizing little lump. 

He swallowed. Hard. 

“What did you hear?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. 

Goldstein blinked, nodding with a small gasp, as if he just remembered that this was what all that was for. “Ah, yes, right– that! Your question! I’ve almost forgotten. Your so deeply sought-after answer is… hardly anything. You’ve heard me right. I heard basically nothing. Oh, don’t give me that face, I’m being truthful here. When I said it’s rare for me to hear you speak, I meant it. Mostly all I’ve ever gotten are mumbled strings of lyrics of the rare times I’ve been awake while you slept. The fact you mentioned a dog last night right before you went to bed and right before I went to bed is likely the first time I heard you say any coherent words this entire week. Purely a coincidence.” 

“Is that the truth? Really?” 

Goldstein turned to him. Tilted his head. 

“Of course it is, Suzuki. I never allow my tongue to be tainted by something so petty as lies.” He actually scoffed out the word, the prick. Unbelievable. 

Sunny forced his clenching fists to relax and tried to ignore the tiny spots of hot pain in his palms where his nails dug in too deep. He breathed in his nose, out his nose, and accepted that this was as good as it got. It’s not like he had much reason to not believe Goldstein, other than the fact that the guy was an utter asshole and just a gossiping piece of shit. Like, if he actually heard any of the important stuff that was worth worrying about, he doubted that he would’ve kept that quiet. One thing that this conversation was proving to him was that Goldstein loved playing games and pushing buttons. The shit Sunny was worried about was one hell of a button, and it wasn’t pressed. 

Everything was fine. Everything was okay. 

He didn’t ask another question after that. He didn’t want to. What Goldstein was doing was laughably obvious, and Sunny wasn’t about to continue this stupid game ust to have to answer another question. Fuck that. They fell into a natural silence, and while it was a bit awkward, it was mostly comfortable in its quiet nature. Sunny continued to walk through the corridors and Goldstein, for some reason that he still refused to fully explain, continued to follow.

It didn’t take long before the blessed quiet was broken by the bitch in blond. 

“You have no idea where you’re going, do you?”

It was annoying because it was true. Sunny’s cheeks burned and he didn't respond. 

“...hmmm. I’ll have you know, I can offer you aid regarding your search. I’ve been to the Kitchens on plenty of occasions. I am more than well-versed in the paths and shortcuts that lead its way, and I am very well acquainted with the elves that work there. They’re more likely to answer to me than they are to a stranger.”

Well that was… suspiciously nice. It was Sunny’s turn to side-eye him, squinting. 

“And what exactly do you want in return?” he asked, because this entire interaction was purely transactional up until now and he highly doubted that would change.

They turned around a corner, entering a corridor that had some classroom doors and more rows of torches running down the hall. Goldstein smiled with all teeth, the sight more threatening than friendly.  “Oh, I know! Shall we play ‘never have I ever’? Or perhaps ‘truth or dare’, even? I’ve heard that one is quite popular in the States as well.” 

“Never have I ever sounds fine,” said Sunny after a beat, words slow with reluctance. Talking with this guy progressively felt a little too much like making a deal with the devil. Nonetheless, that game involved the least talking out of the given options. Just yes or no, putting down a finger or winning a round. 

He better not regret this. 

A grin that was as bright as the sun split across Goldstein’s face, and he gave an excited little clap. “Oh, perfect! Perfect, perfect, perfect. Follow me, my friend.”

.

..

.

On one hand, Goldstein stayed true to his word. Sunny had been going the wrong way the entire time and turns out he wasn’t even looking for the right thing– but in his defense, how the hell was he supposed to have remembered the fact you enter the Kitchens by tickling a pear in a still life portrait– but with Goldstein leading the way they got there in less than five minutes. 

On the other hand, though… Goldstein stayed true to his word. 

“Never have I ever allowed my hair to grow to an atrocious length purely because my sense of style is as dead as a rock.” 

Sunny put a finger down, because it used up less energy than giving a fuck. They’ve been playing this for a while now, and he only had two fingers left. Hopefully by the time he got the last finger down, this damned game would end and Goldstein would leave him the fuck alone. 

“Never have I ever stalked someone in their sleep,” said Sunny in a deadpan. 

Goldstein gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “I have not! You are the one who is loud. My poor ears have been tortured by your nightly mumblings for months now, how dare you!”  

“Put the damn finger down.” 

The Ravenclaw huffed, but eventually did as was told. 

Surprisingly enough, the Kitchens wasn’t this grandiose thing that Sunny thought it’d be. Now, don’t get him wrong, it was massive– but not… Ancient Castle level of big or type of aesthetic. Everything from the walls to the furniture were made up varying shades of gold and soft yellow colors, and instead of it all being one big conjoined space, the Kitchens were exactly that. Kitchen s. Plural. One main room that looked straight out of a cottagecore pinterest board, with plants overflowing every corner that wasn’t open for food and cutlery and shit, and there were countless doors that led to all sorts of different mini-kitchens or pantries and the like. Very nice place all around, Sunny approved. Very… Huffle-puffy too, which made sense. 

Another thing that Goldstein surprisingly didn’t lie about was his familiarity with the house elves. They had just barely walked in and immediately two elves– Lola and Dimdim– popped up to greet them with excitement, ushering them off into one of the many doors that led to the mini-rooms and mumbling things about ‘how long it has been since you came here, Auggie!’ and ‘oh, oh, will you want to help us cook lunch again soon?’ and stuff like that. Insane. Sunny actually felt insane. 

Currently the two of them were inside a pantry of sorts. It was a small room with nothing except two tables filled with all sorts of food, plenty of fruits and snacks and even some meat, which was what Sunny was keeping a lookout for the most. Sunny was on the left side of the main table, the side closer to the door, and Goldstein was on the right, only about a foot away from the wall. 

It was kind of crazy how easy getting in this private little food-stash room was. The elves literally just opened a door, led them in, walked out and closed it shut to let them do… whatever. They could just eat everything in here and they wouldn’t know until they checked. The amount of trust they had on them was off the charts, though Sunny knew that the only reason he was allowed in this place so easily was because Goldstein let him in out of the kindness of his heart. Another insane thought. 

“Never have I ever cried in public.” 

Sunny sighed and made a show of putting another finger down– and whose fault was that, bitch– before uncurling his fist and grabbing some more bacon from one of the plates. Goldstein was always asking those types of questions. Ones that were very obviously meant to be annoying or hurtful or just straight-up invasive. Sunny got the sense he was digging for something, be it a reaction or anything else along those lines, and he tried not to give it. Frustrating Goldstein and his stupid little grin was the only thing that was keeping him sane right then. 

“Never have I ever been horribly blond,” said Sunny, just to be a little shit. 

“...that is not how–”

“Shut the fuck up and put the finger down.” 

Goldstein snorted, which was not the reaction Sunny wanted but whatever. “You only do this because you have one life left. Desperate, much? Appearance doesn’t count, or else I would’ve already done that to you. Pick something else.” 

“Pass, in that case,” said Sunny, because he actually couldn’t give less of a fuck about losing. 

He set the bacon he grabbed down on one of the silver plates he took from the ‘plates’ section of this pantry, and then put it strategically inside of the picnic basket they were preparing. Oh, yeah, they were preparing a picnic basket. Lovely, wasn’t it? Courtesy of Goldstein and his big ass mouth, and the lovely elves who just wanted to help them have the best experience ever. Sunny just wanted to grab some food and leave, but no. That was too much to ask for Mr. Goldilocks apparently. 

“Hmmmm… I should go easy on you, I reckon. Last life and all.”

He really wanted to draw this out, huh?

Well. Whatever. Sunny was almost done packing up the food anyway. Goldstein picked up some cutlery– fancy silver forks and spoons– and put it into the picnic basket. 

“Let’s see. Never have I eveeer… kissed someone.”

Sunny didn’t put a finger down. Goldstein giggled. “Of course not. Well, never have I ever, ah… stolen something important?”

That ‘important’ bit left a lot up for interpretation. Sunny didn’t put a finger down. 

Honestly this was just getting tiring and nearly boring. He looked over and checked the picnic basket. There were quite a few things in there already. Some plates, the aforementioned cutlery, napkins, lots of bacon– could dogs eat bacon? Fuck it, Sirius was kinda a human too anyway– as well as some more food that were hidden away by more napkins. Jesus, Goldstein sure liked his napkins. 

“Never have I ever been hit by a car.”

Sunny gave him a look before moving on and turning to the fruits section. 

He may as well grab something to eat himself, right? He might get hungry once he got there, who knew. And he needed to eat more anyway. 

Yeah, sure. Some fruits wouldn’t hurt. 

Sunny stretched out a hand, reaching out to grab–

“Never have I ever killed someone.”

Sunny’s hand froze. 

His entire body stiffened. 

He swallowed, throat dry, and tried to ignore how breathing became a little more difficult.   

No, a stupid part of him wanted to say even though he didn’t have to do anything except not lower another finger. The word almost slipped out, damned impulse, but it lodged halfway up his throat, the blatant lie too bitter on his tongue. No, I didn’t. I didn’t. 

I didn’t mean to. 

His heart clenched, every beat more painful than the last. A growing coldness spread up his body from his stomach, running across his veins in a crawl and poisoning his bloodstreams with this horrible dread. It felt electric, almost. Charging. 

His hands began to shake. 

Adrenaline. 

“What’s with that look on your face?” teased Goldstein with a giggle, but his voice echoed so far away. Sunny didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to. He breathed in and out. In and out. In and out. As the silence stretched longer and longer, Goldstein’s smile wavered, his amusement slowly dwindling bit by bit as he stared harder and harder Sunny's way. 

There was pause. A terrible pause, one that persisted for too long. 

Whatever Goldstein was looking for in his expression, he found it. The smile twitched. Fell. 

“What’s with that look on your face.” 

Humor had fled his voice.

It was hard to breathe. 

“S-stop it,” stuttered Sunny, barely able to hiss the words out as invisible needles pinched and bubbled across his skin. The air was too thick. His hands, still extended, still reaching for a fruit that now lost all its importance, trembled more and more and more. 

Goldstein’s attention flickered away from Sunny’s face to them instead, the involuntary jitter noticeable enough by now to draw his gaze. A beat passed, and another one of his awful smiles began to twist its way to his lips. But it was of a different kind this time. It wasn’t amused, or calculated, or gleeful. It quivered as much as Sunny’s hand. Nervous. 

“W-well…” he said, voice cracking at the single syllable. He let out a laugh, a laugh that was too loud, too forced, too fake. It grated Sunny’s ears. “Touched a nerve there, didn’t I?”

“Stop it.”

Goldstein didn’t. He glanced away from his hands. Looked Sunny dead in the eyes. His voice lowered, quieter now. Not theatrical or melodic and too thin for normal speech. 

“You really are just a sick bastard, aren’t you?”

Sunny didn’t realize he moved until he heard Goldstein’s gasp. He grabbed him by the collar of his pajama’s shirt and slammed him into the wall. The silver plate slipped from Goldstein’s grasp and clashed to the ground, wobbling loudly as it spun. Sunny ignored it. Pinned him hard against the bricks, white knuckles pressing close to his neck.  

Goldstein’s eyes snapped wide, the pronounced web of reddening veins accenting the green of his irises as his breathing quickened, every word broken by a stutter. “W-what are you doing, let me go Suzuki, let me go right now–”

He gripped Sunny’s forearms, nails digging in an effort to rip his grip away, and for the first time his expression wasn’t blank, his tone wasn’t unreadable, his picture-perfect composure was gone and replaced by that fearful shake of his breath and the terrified tremor that thrummed through every limb, that calm and collected mask crumbling right before his eyes and Sunny, because he was sick, sick, sick, sick, felt nothing but righteous.

“Listen very closely you piece of shit, because I’m only going to say this once.” 

Sunny was floating and sinking and so very far away, and Goldstein went silent, blessedly silent, not mocking or taunting or joking just silent and finally fucking listening. It was strange how easily words flooded from his lips now. As if someone else was spoon feeding every line he had to say. 

“I’m done playing your games. You get that? Done,” he stated, tone airy and spiraling into something more unhinged than he ever wanted to sound. A detached calmness washed over him, making the pit in his stomach feel lighter than it really was, the pounding of his heart quieter inside his cotton-stuffed skull. “I’m going to ask this one more time, and when you answer, you better be honest. You understand that? Good old honesty. No tangents. No jokes. No half-truth or white lies. We’ll go on about our day right after, and forget this ever happened. And if you try to lie, for some unimaginable fucking reason, I’ll be able to tell. Because guess what. Your stupid little mask cracked. And you know that as well as I do.”

Goldstein audibly swallowed, throat bobbing as his grip on Sunny’s wrists tightened. He didn’t deny it. Didn’t try to argue back. 

Only stared.

Listened. 

Good. 

“Now, for the last time.” Sunny raised him by the collar, forcefully dragging him up the wall and closer to his face. “What do you fucking want from me?” 

Goldstein watched him with those wide red-rimmed eyes, gaze flickering as he glanced at every feature in Sunny’s face, his shallow hyperventilation all that breached the silence for the next few seconds that passed. He drew in a shuddering breath through his nose, a long one, more controlled, blinking over and over again.

“...let go of me,” said Goldstein, the shaky whisper more of an order than a request.

Sunny didn’t. 

There was a pause, and Goldstein let go of one of his wrists. 

Something pressed against his side a second later, right into his abdomen.  

Something thin. 

Blunt. 

Sunny glanced down.

Goldstein’s wand. 

Somehow, the sight of it sent a rush of something up his chest and throat, something that mixed with the white-hot adrenaline rushing through his veins and twisted into a painful knot– he didn’t realize that it was a delirious laugh until it slipped out as a fragmented “hah.” He looked back up at Goldstein, meeting his gaze. His cheeks hurt. Was he smiling? He couldn’t tell. 

“Don’t even think about it.” 

Goldstein’s breathing somehow managed to quicken further, more erratic. “S-Suzuki, if you don’t let go–” 

“Expelliarmus.” 

He heard a zip through the wind and something light clatter somewhere behind him. He didn’t have to look back to know. Seeing the color drain from Goldstein’s already-paler face was all the confirmation he needed.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sunny said then, keeping his tone gentle, because it was true, it was, he didn’t want to hurt anyone, he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t mean to he just needed him to listen he just needed an answer he just neededher to listen for once in her life– “I mean that you know. Let’s make a deal. You like those, right? Just tell me the truth and I’ll let you go. Simple as that.”

Goldstein only stared. 

And stared. 

And stared.  

Suddenly, Sunny didn’t like his silence anymore. His hands shook as he lowered him back down and away from his face, refocusing his energy to pin Goldstein harder against the wall. The other’s nails dug deeper into his wrists. An anchor. Something new crawled up his throat. Another knot. This one more painful. Tighter. He swallowed down what he knew was a sob, and hissed a sharp, desperate, “say something.” 

There was a pause. A long one, just like before. Goldstein wasn’t shaking anymore, Sunny realized. He simply watched, his expression slowly emptying out. Building a new mask in real time, but a weaker one, eyes still glazed with that same fear as before. The counteracting weight of him pushing back Sunny’s grip lifted as he sank into the wall, leaning with the pressure rather than against it. He let go of the other wrist, both hands now limp by his sides. Wandless, Sunny reminded himself. This wasn’t a trick. 

Goldstein cleared his throat, swallowing down one more time. 

A beat of silence. 

Then, 

“Tell me about your boggart,” he whispered, voice steady. Cold. Indifferent. “This… tangible shadow of yours.”

Sunny blinked. His mind was drenched in fog. Tangible shadow? He didn’t understand. He let the words echo in his head, tried to dissect every vowel and their meaning, but they didn’t make any sense. Goldstein spoke as if he would comprehend. As if he should comprehend. The room’s ceiling sank lower, the walls pressing and pressing and pressing further in as the corners of his vision blurred into dark shifting shadows. He ignored the panicked pulse at the back of his throat, ignored the headache forming between his furrowing brows. It was easy to do so. To let the cotton inside his skull spread to the rest of his body. To feel his back lay onto a soft picnic blanket. To let his ears ring with that simple tune of a place he never wanted to go back to again, but always ended up going anyway. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he heard himself say. 

Goldstein didn’t linger in silence this time. 

“Allow me to elaborate then. There’s apparently a darkness that clutches you, something that stretches and grows tendrils to wrap around your body and the world around you. Black, grotesque, perhaps a curse, and yet protective of you in a sense. Something that follows you everywhere you go. Does it ring any bells, dear friend?” 

It did. 

Because of course it did. 

Something behind you– 

It was so hard to breathe. So hard to breathe. So hard to breathe.  

Sunny stared at him in disbelief, his voice so thin, so fragile, because it didn’t make any sense. 

“You can see it?” 

His heart pulsed between his ears. Or maybe it was a knock on the door. Thud thud thud. They sounded the same. 

Goldstein paused. Shook his head. 

“No.” 

Another pause. As if considering something. 

Then, 

“But Harry did.” 

But Harry did. 

But Harry did. 

But Harry–

Sunny let go of him as if he’d caught on fire. Goldstein stumbled forward with a startled cough, letting out a gasp as one hand leaned onto the table beside them to balance himself. That didn’t make any sense. That didn’t make any sense. 

What the fuck?

Sunny breathed in and out, entire body heaving, in and out, in and out, in and out–

Then it clicked. 

Of course it didn’t make any sense. 

He watched as Goldstein caught his breath as he straightened out his posture, trembling hands fixing invisible folds from his clothing and relief writing itself across every inch of his face. He let go of him. Goldstein said something, something ridiculous, something that pressed every little button inside of Sunny’s head, and he let go of him. 

It was just another game. 

There was ice in Sunny’s throat and it burned. 

Burned and burned and burned and boiling overwhelming rage burst from his chest and flooded his every thought. His vision went red. He didn’t know what expression he had at that moment, but whatever it was, it made Goldstein look up and take a full step back. Right into the wall behind him. Right where he was just a second ago. 

“You fucking liar.” 

Sunny took a step forward. 

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that? A c-cruel– a cruel piece of shit without a single honest or decent bone in your body. You’re nothing more than a bully who gets off on tormenting people for no goddamn reason, w-wanting to know about my boggart and– and– and if I’d kill my fucking friend in a train o-or– or if– if I have some demon or whatever the fuck following me around–” He laughed, laughed because he refused to cry, not here, not with him, not now, never again. “–god damnit. Wanting to be my friend. Wanting to be my friend?! Hah! As if you someone like you could have a friend! You just wanted me to trust you, didn’t you? Trust you enough to give up all my deepest darkest secrets? Is that it?”

He couldn’t breathe. 

He was losing his mind. 

“And– and– and as soon as that doesn't work, you just go straight to– t-to blackmail or discomfort and manipulation or whatever, just– j-just waltzing in here all smiles and jokes and playing around as if everything is just a goddamn game to you. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? A game? Well guess what, fuck you. I’m not your friend. I’m never going to be your friend. Do you want to know why? Because at the end of the day when your stupid mask cracks, and your twisted little show ends, there’s nobody– nobody– backstage who will give a fuck about the actor behind the role. You're a heartless bastard who cares about nothing other than your own entertainment, entirely incapable of giving anyone the basic human decency of not drowning them in the bullshit you spew, thinking you’re above everyone and everything when you’re not. You’re not above anything. You’re not cool, or funny, or smart, or special. You’re the one who’s sick.” 

By the time he hissed out that last word, Sunny was breathless, entire body trembling head to toe, heart pounding furiously inside his chest. The dread didn’t leave. The adrenaline didn’t stop. It wasn’t stopping. Whatever this was, it wasn’t ending, and he– he– he was going to go insane. That horrible current ran beneath his skin, humming with that disgusting vibrancy that made him want to dig his nails into his flesh and rip it out. 

He curled his hands into fists, dug his nails deep, deep, deeper still, bit down on his teeth hard and forced himself to turn away from Goldstein. 

Food– and Sirius. Food. Sirius. He couldn’t forget what he came here for. He needed to. He needed to grab the food. And then leave. Grab the food, leave. Grab the food. Leave. 

Sunny huffed out one last shaky breath, and stepped forward to grab the basket–

“Hypocrite.”

He wasn’t sure why, but that made him stop. Not because of the word itself. But the way it was said. Goldstein’s voice wasn’t steady anymore. No longer apathetic or indifferent or even amused like how it was before. It shook, but not with fear. The three syllables were enveloped in plain, cold, undiluted fury, the kind of suffocating rage that festered between every shift of the vocal cords, the kind that made it hard to talk or breathe or think. 

Sunny slowly turned back around. 

Goldstein was still standing by the wall. Face pale, and blank, but not with emptiness. The exact opposite, rather. There were too many emotions for the eyes to recognize when looking at him, every feature of his twitching. His lips, the tip of his nose and sides of his nostrils, the fold between his brows, every minute spasm of movement too small to notice at first glance but there all the same. Struggling with wave after wave of too many things to feel. 

“You… you dare speak of deceit. As if you were any different than me. As if you didn’t wear masks the same way I do, in worse ways still.”

Sunny said nothing. Goldstein stepped forward. 

“And you know that I’m right, don’t you? Poor, quiet, timid little Suzuki. The tragic new squib boy that needn’t more stress in his very first year as a wizard– why, he wouldn’t harm a fly now, would he? I must congratulate you on that, truly. You’re a skilled actor. So skilled that my dear cousin fell for it. She likes you. She cares for that anxious little boy who can hardly bring himself to speak, putting in so much effort to always be kind, always trying to ensure you’re alright, always arguing with me when she thinks I’ve done wrong by you. Telling me to be nicer to you, more patient, more understanding, as if there was a single good part inside of you that’s worth all that.” 

Another step forward. Sunny said nothing. His nails dug. His palms burned.

Goldstein was only one step away from too close.  

“It’s funny, isn’t it? All of that for you. You, the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen. I’m willing to bet you’re not even aware of who I’m talking about. I know how you act. How you really act I mean, when you believe nobody important is glancing your way. Like you’re something separate, a God walking among mortals. You adore to ignore and shun people when you deem them not worthy of your time, as if their efforts and feelings are less important than your oh-so- valuable space. You always… watch everything around you occur, with this same bloody detachment day after day. As if you’re nothing more but some twisted audience to the spectacle of our lives.” A pause. Goldstein tilted his head. “Don’t give me that look. Am I not right, Suzuki?”

Sunny felt sick.

“You… know nothing about me.” 

Goldstein huffed a single short laugh. 

“I know you wouldn’t pull the lever.” 

Stepped closer. Too close. 

“But I’d pull it, you know. Both times. No matter the outcome. Do you want to know why?”

Sunny didn’t. He couldn’t say it. 

“Because if I did nothing, the world wouldn’t change.” 

Goldstein was right in front of Sunny now, his mildly shorter stature making it so that he had to look up in order to keep his gaze. 

“One would die, or maybe three, and what a tragedy that would be. Stories would be told of that day, of the lives that were lost for no meaning or value, and the world would gain nothing but pain. But if I sucked it up, walked right over, and merely tugged it to the other side? Suddenly, it’s not a story of tragedy. It’s a lesson about sacrifice. The bravery of killing a close friend to save the lives of strangers, an awful mean for greater ends. Or maybe it’s a lesson of community, of friendship, of choosing the individual love over the altruistic choice. Either way, they would speak of my deliberate actions. Discuss the morality, the profit, the meaning behind it all. And with those stories the world would grow. Be better than it was before. Better than it would be, if I had chosen to do nothing at all. Because this world is split in two ways, Suzuki, and only two. The entertainers, the ones who lead, inspire, teach, and the entertainment, who follow, copy, learn. There is not a third. There will never be. We all have a role to play, and you are no exception.” 

Sunny listened and shook his head, something inside of him curling at every sentence said. 

“You don’t have the right to play God until the world fits your fucked up narrative, Goldstein.” 

Goldstein didn’t blink.

“And you don’t have the right to be a bystander until your ‘fucked up’ narrative fits the world.” 

A beat of silence passed. 

Goldstein waited. When nothing more was said, he continued, speaking deliberately slowly. 

“Look. Call me cruel as much as you’d like for ‘tormenting’ you, but answer me this, Suzuki, what would you have me do? Somebody had to put you in your place. Show you that you’re not as untouchable as you think. That you can feel, bleed, cry, break, just like the rest of us.” 

Goldstein grabbed Sunny’s shirt and pulled down just enough to close another inch of distance. Just enough to make it impossible not to hear him speak, even when his volume simmered lower and lower, as if he wanted to force Sunny to hang on to every whispered word. 

“Honesty is what you want from me, isn’t it? Fine. Have my honesty. I don’t like you. I’ve never liked you and I doubt I ever will. But you’ve gone and made yourself interesting throughout all this, so I’ll be gracious and spell things out. You’re no audience, Suzuki. Don’t get things twisted. And go ahead, paint me a villain and you the poor, honest, tragic little hero, go ahead and call a mirror a blade while forgetting reflections only cut when shattered by a determined fist. I won’t stop you from indulging. I don’t want to. But don’t you dare cry when your knuckles bleed in sacrifice for that fantasy. You don’t deserve the tears you shed on stage, and you don’t deserve to applaud a performance from which you were never meant to abstain.”

They both fell quiet. 

Sunny’s ears rang. 

Goldstein waited again, staring straight at him, into him, through him, not letting go and not saying another word simply because he didn’t have anything else he needed to say. A few seconds passed like that, and then the pressure from the tug of his shirt was gone, Goldstein letting him go and stepping back. 

The air was thin. 

Sunny just breathed. 

“Don’t worry about your little secrets,” said Goldstein, his voice back to normal volume and his tone dead with an apathy that shouldn’t be so comforting. “They’ll stay between us.”

A pause.  

“...I’ll see you in class.” 

Goldstein moved past him then, ignoring the fallen plate on the floor, smoothly picking up his wand from the ground with a grace that felt insulting. Sunny didn’t turn around. He stared at the wall Goldstein stood by only seconds ago, at the gold-beige bricks and all their cracks and crevices. He stared, swallowed, and fought to find his voice. 

“Cruelty is still cruelty,” said Sunny, and the footsteps behind him stopped. “Even if you rationalize it, it… it doesn’t matter. It will never matter if you have a reason. It’s still cruel.” 

Goldstein was quiet for a moment. 

Sunny heard the door open. 

“You’re right about that.” 

A few more footsteps, and then the click of a door closing shut. 

Sunny stood there. Frozen stiff. Breathing. And breathing. And breathing. Unable to do anything else. For how long, he wasn’t sure. Eventually, however, when his heart rate slowed and his breathing evened just enough, he managed to move again. 

He walked to the picnic basket. 

Food. Sirius. Food. Sirius. 

He grabbed it. 

Would you like to SAV–

Everything was okay. 

.

..

...

..

.

The sky may as well have been the ugliest color Sunny had ever seen. A bit gray, a bit pink, but mostly blue. A bright blue, not a dark one from dawn but a light one from day, bleeding into orange and then soft red as he lowered his eyes down to the horizon that the rising sun almost no longer touched. Only now did he manage to leave the courtyard to walk down the slope to the Lake and it was just barely past sunrise. Sirius had probably been expecting him at dawn. 

By every definition of the word, he was late. And there was nothing he could do except keep walking to the designated spot and hope for the best. 

Sunny didn’t walk, though. Not immediately anyway. 

The picnic basket was a steady weight that sank into the bellies of his fingers, handle held by both hands in a weak grip. He stood amongst the tall blades of grass and stared at the horizon longer, gaze fixed on the mountains of clouds that basked within the yellow-orange light from the sun, so faded they mixed easily with the gradient sky. He waited, tried to let himself admire the view, tried to feel inspiration or appreciation or anything at all, but it was like staring at a watercolor painting. In a bad way. When nothing except a weighted dullness settled inside his chest, Sunny looked away from the cardboard sky and focused his attention on the downwards hill he stood over. 

In the far distance below the Lake sat, black waters glistening and reflecting the sky above. The trail he would soon follow was charming in its simplicity, a twisting dirt road flooded with scattered pebbles and too much overgrown weed. It was a path he was very familiar with by now thanks to his many ventures down to the Lake in the mornings. Yet today something about it felt different. Dangerous. Almost hostile, but not really. 

Sunny looked at the rocks that stuck out, looked at the mud and the dips and humps of the trail, and the only thing he could think of was how easy it would be to just… slip. Fall. Hit his skull against the stone. Crack it open, let the world go blissfully black. A pathetic finality. A comfort. 

The sun shone brightly in the sky. From somewhere high above, a bird chirped its little melody, the notes ringing clear through the breeze. What a pretty day. 

Sunny stared at a specific rock that prodded up from the dirt, right next to a wilting dandelion weed. The stone was a gray, ugly thing, sometimes brown where the strokes of dirt and mud stuck to its surface, sometimes white where the sun outlined the sharp edges just so. 

How easy it would be. 

“That’s a very nice basket. Are you having a picnic?”

He blinked. 

The feminine voice was airy and dreamy and familiar, calling out from a few yards behind him. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. 

“I’m not,” he told Luna, not looking away from the stone. “It’s for my dog.” 

Please go away, Sunny almost added. But he wouldn’t. 

Dirt crunched beneath light feet as Luna approached, the soft sound turning louder the closer she got, footsteps sporadic as if she were jumping three steps at a time. Sunny felt her phantom presence behind him before anything else and only then did he turn around, mostly to bat away the crawling discomfort of not seeing something that stood so close to him. 

Luna was smiling at him with that gentle smile of hers, her platinum hair tied in a loose braid that she clearly slept in, most strands undone and poofed up, drifting with the wind. Strangely enough she wore her uniform already, with her black robes, black skirt, black tights and all, blue and silver tie perfectly done. Maybe she slept in those, or she just didn’t care about her hair. Sunny could relate to the latter. 

“Your dog? I didn’t know you had one.” 

Sunny said nothing to that. 

She stared at him for a few seconds, and the rustle of the grass was all that filled the empty space between them. Eventually, after a long enough period of time for the quiet to grow awkward, she tilted her head, glancing at the basket for a second before back at Sunny. 

“May I join you and your friend? I’d like to meet your dog.” 

“I’m not with another friend. It’s… it’s not a picnic.” 

“That’s quite alright. I like to go on long walks in the mornings.” She let her eyes drift around, gaze always a tad too unfocused. “It’s always very pretty out here. A bit of company would be nice, don’t you think so?”

He didn’t. 

But, for some reason, Sunny ended up nodding anyway. 

There was a short pause before he turned around and began to walk down the slope. The crunch of trailing footsteps told him that Luna followed. 

A warmth that didn’t belong to autumn bathed the side of Sunny’s skin that faced the sun, and even as he wore nothing but his thin pajamas he didn’t feel cold. The air was light and crisp with that sweet morning texture, and Luna didn’t break the soothing silence that the distance to the castle gave. He led their way down and down and down and she followed, something about that kind of friendly dynamic sparking a bittersweet nostalgia inside his gut. He pushed the feeling down. 

It took about five minutes to arrive. By the time he did, not a single ray of the sun was hidden, though the line of the horizon was still glowing with that thin red burn. It wouldn’t take long before that faded into blue too. He never thought he’d hate a color so much. 

The meeting spot Sunny had referenced to Sirius was a large, sleek boulder that jagged up from the ground right beside the Lake. It was black in color and absolutely massive, taller and wider than three Hagrids stacked on top of one another, casting a deep dark shadow large enough to fit more than ten people laying down. Sunny moved past it and walked all the way to the edge of the Lake, right where the grassy ground stopped and the water began. 

He paused. 

Looked left.

Looked right. 

Looked behind, and straight ahead too. 

No sign of Sirius anywhere. Not by the shore, not by the meadow, not by the Forest a few yards away.

He really was too late.

Sunny closed his eyes, and didn’t allow his gut to sink. Didn’t allow the crippling disappointment to crack something fragile inside of him, didn’t allow failure to gut something hidden deep between his ribs. He breathed in through his nose, filled his empty empty empty empty empty chest with air, let his lungs expand and be filled to the brim, to absolution, to near pain, and exhaled slowly out his mouth. Very, very slowly. Slow enough for him to be able to count the seconds, from one to two to three to five to eight to twelve, slow enough for it to leave him nearly dizzy. 

Everything was going to be okay. 

There was a rustle of fabric behind him. 

Sunny opened his eyes. Turned around. 

Right next to the shadow of the boulder, still in the region where sunlight reached the ground, Luna had taken off her black robes and set them over the low grass. Sunny stared as she patted down her makeshift blanket and got comfortable with a few quiet huffs of effort, sitting down and crossing her legs– only now did he realize that she wasn’t wearing any shoes, because of course she wasn’t– and proceeding to look up at him from her sitting position. 

Luna sent him a bright smile, and gestured over. 

“Come here, sit, it’s very nice.” 

Sunny hesitated. Why, he wasn’t sure. But he did. Luna waited. Sunny stared some more. 

Do you want to have a picnic with Luna?

…well. 

He might as well. 

Yes.

Sunny agreed with a quiet nod and walked over, farther and farther from the edge of the Lake. 

He weighed his choices once he got close enough to stop. There were two spots next to her, one in light and the other in the cast shadow of the boulder. Staying where the sun reached might hurt his eyes but sitting where it didn’t might be cold. Both options were bad in the end. Thankfully though he was spared from making a decision by Luna, who pointed directly in front of her. 

“Right there is alright. Don’t worry, the floor is quite comfortable.”

Sunny blinked. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought of that. If he just didn’t look at the sun, it wouldn’t hurt him, and he could stay warm. He nodded and took a single additional step forward, setting the basket down between the two of them before sitting. Contradictory to what Luna said, the ground was not comfortable at all, lumpy and hard and worst of all, moist. Too damp. Way too damp. He was ruining his only pair of pyjama pants. Whatever, it’s not like he had to do his own laundry anyway. 

Luna leaned forward and reached into the basket, rummaging around as she hummed a pretty tune quietly to herself. She took out a sandwich Sunny didn’t remember packing and brought it to her mouth, taking a bite. 

“Hmmmm, it’s quite good,” she complimented with her mouth half-full, swallowing down and continuing to eat right after. Sunny nodded in acknowledgement, but didn’t reach for the food. He wasn’t hungry at all. 

Quiet fell again, but it felt less awkward than before. Luna kept eating and Sunny did nothing but sit there and look around, mindlessly ripping some grass from the soil. His back was turned to the Lake, but from where he sat he could still see the rolling hills he’d walked over only minutes ago, distance making Hogwarts look almost faded in the way things tend to look when too far away, but its towering structure was still impossible to miss. 

He just sat there, and did nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

Luna offered him a sandwich or some other snack every once in a while, but he always said no. 

The food wasn’t his to eat. 

Sunny eventually looked away from Hogwarts, eyes sliding down to stare at the basket. The basket he brought for Sirius. Who wasn’t there, because he was too late.

Sirius wasn’t there. Hah. That’s funny. He fucked this up bad, didn’t he? Sirius wasn’t going to trust him anymore after this. Why would he, just to be disappointed again? Why risk getting close to the castle and the dementors and everything when there would be nothing to gain? Sunny fucked up. Sirius wasn’t going to get food now. He fucked up, fucked up so badly when all he had to do was wake up earlier, get everything done faster, been quieter and done things better, not have wasted so much fucking time speaking with Goldst–...

…god. 

He was so useless. 

“Are you quite alright?”

Sunny looked up from the picnic basket to see Luna tilt her head at him. She was frowning a bit, but it was a different type of sight coming from her. Her frown was more expressive, in a way, almost cartoonish with how her eyebrows curved into perfect slopes, how her blue eyes caught the light in just the right way to make them ‘shine’ with concern. 

He nodded. 

“You’re crying,” said Luna, almost matter-of-factly as she pointed. 

He paused. 

Sunny blinked, and reached up to his face. He touched his cheeks, and oh, his fingers got wet. There was water there, trails that ran down, ones he didn’t register until now. He pulled his hand away from his face, and stared at his fingers. They glistened, damp, and on the center of his palms were faded red-pink markings, right where his nails had sunk into minutes ago. 

For some reason, his entire hand was shaking. It was shaking a lot, too much, not just in the natural unsteadiness of everyday life. The type of shaking that got unnerving when you watched it. Sunny grabbed his wrist with his other hand, only to realize they were both trembling just as bad as the other. 

“...I d-don’t,” he began, the stammer in his words unprecedented. 

He swallowed, and tried again, forcing his words to flow smoothly. 

“I don’t know why w-w—... w-why–...” 

It didn’t work. 

What the hell?

He couldn’t control his voice.  

“W-why a-am I–...? T-the tears, I d-don’t und- under– u-understand, I–”

It just worsened. And worsened. 

He didn’t know why and suddenly he gasped, without any warning, no warning, nothing in his head told him of this, he gasped as if he hadn’t been breathing. As if his head had just been pulled up from the depths of drowning. A reaction that poured a bucket of ice down at him because this was just his body, not him, he wasn’t the one who gasped, he wasn’t the one stuttering, he wasn’t, his body was, his body was betraying him and everything was fine it was fine why couldn’t he breathe why couldn’t he–

“It’s quite alright,” said Luna, and only now did Sunny realize she’d gotten closer, having left the blanket of her robes and sitting down right beside him. The sun bathed her back and haloed her hair, and he tried to focus on that, on the lighting, on the colors, the pretty colors, on the lighting, the colors, one the– the– the– “Breathe, it’s okay.” 

She took his hand, touch gentle, skin soft, and he didn’t mean to clutch to that grip until his knuckles turned white. He wasn’t doing this. He was hurting her. Why was he doing this. Why was he doing this. 

“I-I’m sor– sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t– do-d-d-don’t– don’t– un-n-nder–understand wh-why– I don’t–” 

He couldn’t breathe.

Why couldn’t he breathe?

Stop it.

Stop it stop it stop it stop it. 

“It’s quite alright.”

Sunny tried to shake his head no but then there was another gasp, one that heaved right out his chest and his whole body stuttered, and Sunny didn’t mean to let that punch of a sob escape him, he didn’t mean to, he didn’t, he didn’t mean to, he clasped a hand over his mouth and hunched over, gripping tight tight tight and trying to push down every rising jerk of his body. 

Luna used her free hand to pat him on the back. 

“I s-shouldn’t c-cry–” he managed to whisper, the last word broken by choked sob. He hiccuped. “I’m s-sorry, I d-don’t… I r-really don’t… know– I s-shouldn’t–”

“Why not?”

You don’t deserve the tears you shed on stage. 

“I’m s-sorry.”

Luna hummed, a quiet sound. 

“...ah, I see the issue.” She stopped patting him on the back, and instead placed her hand over the one she was already holding. “Here. I forgive you, Sunny. You can cry now.” 

I forgive you–

Three words was all it took. 

Whatever was left that was holding him together throughout all of this, whatever final string, it snapped.

Sunny did nothing– could do nothing– as his hands were suddenly let go and arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer and lower to the ground as sob after sob ripped through his throat raw. His lungs switched from empty to suffocated again and again, pressure building and fleeing over and over in a horrible cycle and he was losing his mind and it was so gentle, the embrace, so gentle, and for some reason, somewhere in the depths of his brain, he expected the arms that held him to feel stiffer, more awkward, more hesitant. But they weren’t. They were gentle and warm and everything he didn’t deserve, and he mentally clutched to the comfort as if it were the last thing he would ever feel. 

“It’s quite alright, Sunny. Your friend is here to help you calm down.”

His friend. 

Luna was talking about herself, he knew that, but something about those two words–

He thought of his friend. 

His best friend. 

Basil.

Basil, who had blue eyes just like hers, the same gentle embrace, the same soft spoken voice, and fuck fuck fuck he missed him so bad he wanted to die. His chest ached. It ached. He wanted Basil, he wanted Kel, he wanted Aubrey he wanted Hero he wanted Mari he didn’t want Luna he didn’t want Harry he didn’t want Lupin he didn’t want this world he didn’t want to participate in this twisted fucking story he wanted out out out out out out out out out.

“When I was very young,” began Luna all of a sudden, her tone light, always so light. There were fingers running through his hair. Sunny could barely breathe through his tears. “I didn’t like to cry either. My mum died back then you understand, and I used to be very scared that if I cried it would make that more real in a way. So I never cried, no matter what. It’s a very silly idea looking back isn’t it? My dad thought so too. He pulled me aside one night out to the little balcony of my room. This was a little bit after my tenth birthday, the first one I had without mum. And do you know what he did?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care. It was hard to breathe and hard to think and the last thing he needed was to listen to another person’s grandiose speech. But there was something about her voice, the soothing way it rippled through the air and settled over his skin like cloth, something about the lightness that made his spiraling mind slow to a pause. Just for a moment. But a moment was more than he needed. Sunny sniffled, coughing through a tight throat, and, despite everything, couldn’t help but listen. 

“He began to cry,” she said simply, her airy tone fading into something quieter. More sad. “He grabbed my shoulders, pulled me close, and began to cry and cry while he hugged me. I didn’t like seeing him cry. It was very scary. Father never cried in front of me, you understand. And so very quickly I started to cry too. And when I started, I couldn’t stop. Quite like what you did just now. My hands started to shake, and it became very hard to breathe, and when my dad hugged me, all I could think of was how he wasn’t my mum. How his hugs were too tight, and his shoulders too broad, and how he didn’t smell the right way, or how he didn’t rub my head the way she used to. I thought he was terrible. A very mean thought, I know. But it’s okay to be mean sometimes so long as you apologize after.”

Sunny coughed once more time, and drew in a quivering breath, the tremor of his inhale a little less shaky than before. He listened. 

“It took a little while for me to calm down and for my thoughts to stop being mean. But once I did, dad wiped my tears and told me to never stop crying, because making my mum’s death real made her life real as well. He told me that if I cried, that only meant I would have the chance to smile another day, and that memories don’t have to hurt as long as I gave them time to be remembered. It hurts when the people we love are gone, so if we hold them very close, if we keep them in our minds at every step that we take, then it will be like they’re never really gone at all. We’re nothing but our memories at the end of the day, and I think that, if you allow yourself to remember, if you just let yourself cry, everything tends to turn out better in the end.” 

Luna looked down at him. He didn’t look back up at her, didn’t need to look at her, because he already knew what he would see. That serene smile on her face, the kindness in her eyes. Sunny breathed, because, somewhere between one anecdote and the next, the air stopped avoiding his lungs, and the tremor in his body finally began to dwindle, to subside. 

“I’ll admit, I don’t know why you started to cry Sunny.” Luna stopped running her fingers through his hair, pausing momentarily. “But I hope that my story helped, even if it was just a little. Never be afraid to cry, okay? Really. Crying is just another way to remember the things that are important to us. I think that’s a very good reminder to have whenever possible. Don’t you agree?” 

Sunny was quiet for a few seconds. 

A few seconds that felt, to him, like years. 

“...y-yeah. Sure. Thanks,” he mumbled, letting out a small cough. His throat burned. “I’ll… I’ll k-keep that in mind.”

There was a pause. Then, Luna beamed. 

.

..

.

Sunny didn’t realize he fell asleep on her lap until he was stirred awake. Stirred awake by the sound of padded footsteps in the grass, by the touch of something wet and furry nudging him right on his cheek. It took a second for the sensation to register. Then another second for his brain to process. And then another second for his brain to realize that he was outside. In the wild of the magical world. That just about anything could be touching him right then. 

He jolted.

“What tHE FUCK–”

He snapped upright so quickly that Luna shrieked in surprise and the furry thing– holy shit, a wolf?!– jumped ten feet up in the air and then away. Sunny had a hand over his heart as he stared with wide, wide eyes, heart going thud thud thud inside his ribs in a frenzied beat as he took too many moments to gather himself back. 

Right. Okay. He was outside. Luna was sitting– well, now standing– right next to him, looking a bit startled. And in front of him was a wolf who hadn’t eaten him yet. Cool. Cool, cool, cool. This was fine. 

Sunny blinked. 

Brain processed a little more. 

Oh. 

The wolf stared at him. 

Oh. 

“Siriusly Hector?!” Sunny coughed out, almost slipping the name through his shock but somehow managing to save it at the last second. Thank you, Sirius, for having such a wacky ass name. He panted, closing his eyes in relief as he threw his head back for a second. “Almost gave me a heart attack… F-fuck…”

Luna giggled then from somewhere to his right, and there were some shuffling noises as she presumably sat down. Sunny opened his eyes again just in time to see Sirius/’Hector’ sitting up and tilting his head, tail wagging happily and hitting the grass in a steady beat. There was a piece of bread in his mouth. A second passed and then the doggo chomped that thing in one bite, swallowing and licking its snout right after.

Sunny stared. 

…Sirius was eating. 

Holy shit. 

His brain finally kicked back up into gear, everything finally starting to fully sink in. 

Sirius. Was. EATING!

Relief crushed him and, if he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted, he would’ve had it in himself to start crying again. Out of happiness this time. Jesus fuck. He almost couldn’t believe it. Holy shit. 

Luna gave Sirius a scratch on the head, and the dog’s tail wagged harder. “He’s very smart, you know. He was hiding behind the boulder over there. I don’t think you noticed, but he came out right when you started to cry. He just sat there–” She pointed to some random spot in the shadowed area. “–and waited until you calmed down. I gave him some food once you fell asleep. All of the meaty things. But now he’s eaten our food as well and… well, I hope you don’t mind.”

Sunny shook his head to signify it was fine, and promptly decided not to think about the fact Sirius just saw him have a breakdown. Sunny definitely decided not to think about the fact Sirius probably thought the breakdown was about him. Which, to be entirely fair, it kinda was. But still. Details. Dignity. All that. Oh, fuck him, why did he have the shittiest luck around. 

“Hector, you said?” asked Luna, and stopped petting the dog.

Sirius stood up and slowly began to make his way towards Sunny, who smiled and extended out a hand. Sirius sniffed first– would you look at that, an actual normal dog reaction, good job buddy– and gave it a gentle lick, and Sunny couldn’t help the quiet, tentative giggle that escaped him. His throat still hurt, a wonderful reminder of the last hour, but this… this was nice. He would allow himself this. Just for a little while. 

Sunny nodded. 

“Yeah. I, uh, named him after my friend’s dog.” 

Luna smiled. “It’s a very nice name.” 

He wholeheartedly agreed. Sunny grabbed another piece of bread from the picnic basket and let Sirius go ham on it. Relief and soft joy settled warmly inside his gut, pushing away the lingering anxiety just for this moment. His stomach growled, a quiet thing, something he almost didn’t hear and only felt. Maybe he should eat something too while he was at it. 

The sun shone bright against the deep blue sky and, for just this moment, Sunny didn’t mind the color half as much anymore. 

—

Inside the Forest, right by its shore, the earth shook.

The ring of wreckage grew. 

—

Dinner just ended, and the Great Hall was empty as dinner had just finished, most of the children having left to go to bed or hang around in the Commons. It’s been three weeks since Halloween and the nice weather that had shown its face during early November was all but a farce to lull everyone into a false sense of security, almost every day after consisting of grey skies and pouring rain. Tonight was no exception. A storm showered down against the glass of the windows, thunder rumblings every other minute, and the enchanted sky of the ceiling was already adjusted to not allow the rain to flood inside. 

Harry poked around his food, his appetite all but lost. 

Tomorrow was his first Quidditch game of the season, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, and if the weather didn’t lift it’d be a very, very difficult one. And knowing his luck, horrible weather was exactly the type of thing that would pop up. Wonderful. 

“I can’t believe he’d do this to us, it’s absolute rubbish,” grumbled Ron for the eleventh time that day, scribbling out some phrase he didn’t like from his essay. Hermione rolled her eyes, tired of having heard the same complaint yet again, but Harry agreed with the sentiment wholeheartedly. Snape assigning them an entire essay on werewolves to complete by next class was absolutely bonkers. However, different from his mate, Harry wasn’t all that preoccupied by the assignment. 

Sunny has been acting… off, these last few weeks. Not in the eerie off way, though sensation was certainly still there, lurking, but rather in the normal sense of the word. Sunny had always been quiet and shy, but lately he’s somehow managed to become quiet er and even more reserved. Harry wasn’t sure when the change in behavior began, maybe sometime during Halloween, but it was there and it was noticeable and he didn’t know what to do about it. 

Even after their detentions were over, Harry and Sunny continued to meet up after school during the weekends to fly together, except they’d use Harry’s broom rather than a school-owned one– which was, of course, more than fine by him. Sunny wanted to learn how to fly proper, and Harry was more than happy to oblige. He quite enjoyed teaching he found, something he honestly hadn’t expected from himself, and on top of all that, Sunny would help Harry with any and all issues he had during Charms in return, which was by far the best subject to speak to Sunny with. A win-win in all accounts, from academic benefits and also the added plus of having a new friend to share his interests with. 

Lately, however, Sunny had been… more upset? Would that be the right word? It was hard to tell when it came to him. 

This was a problem for Harry, who wanted to introduce Ron and Hermione to the Ravenclaw about four entire bloody weeks ago. But now he could hardly get a proper conversation with him by himself, and he didn’t favor his chances of managing to get his friends to get along while Sunny was in this state. He thought it had something to do with Goldstein at first, since that’s where most of Sunny’s problems tend to originate so far, but a bit of observation quickly proved that couldn’t be it. Those two were avoiding each other like the plague. Goldstein, who always seemed to be watching Sunny through the sidelines ever since the year started, had started to pretend as if the other didn’t exist at all. Which was great, considering that meant one less thing to worry about. And yet Sunny was just getting worse and worse, and at this rate Harry was almost worried they’d regress all the way back to how things used to be before. 

It was so bloody weird. And frustrating. Harry wanted to rip his hair out a little. 

“I give up!” 

The SLAM of a book being shut with too much force jolted Harry from his thoughts. He glanced over at Ron, who was now stuffing his book into his bag with even more force– blimey, Ron, careful not to rip some pages out there– before swinging the bag over his shoulder and standing up. 

“I am heading to bed. Harry, I’ll be in the dorms if you need me. Sod this, I’m not writing anything anymore for that… that… that slug! On the eve before the first Quidditch match, you’ve got to be joking, this is… no. I have dignity. I refuse.” 

“I’m coming with you,” said Harry immediately, because yeah, sod this. He hadn’t written anything at all in his scroll and he wasn’t planning to. If Professor Lupin wished to fail him after this, he would take the Troll, though he highly doubted he’d continue the cruelty Snape was enforcing in the classroom. Harry picked up his books (with much more care than Ron) and slid them into his bag, standing up and giving Hermione a small wave goodbye. “Night, Hermione.”

She sighed and shook her head, not looking up from her book as she waved back and surprisingly not bothering to lecture them either (for once). Her one million impossible classes must finally be catching up to her for the exhaustion to be too great to gather any energy to scold. Huh. Who knew that her crazy schedule would give them benefits?

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked just as surprised as he felt. A beat passed, they both shrugged in a well, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth type of way, and with a few more muttered goodbyes they headed down the Great Hall, straight to the exit. 

He should get some sleep. He had a big day tomorrow. 

.

..

.

Just as Harry predicted, the match would soon begin, and it was absolutely pouring. It was so cold and so wet he could no longer feel his skin or the clothes on his back. The Quidditch field’s grass was almost black with how drenched each blade had become, and if it weren’t for Hermione’s water-repellent charm on his glasses, Harry was sure he’d be blind as a bat right about now. Juuuuust brilliant. This was exactly what he needed. He fought back a glower and fidgeted with his Nimbus, rolling the smooth wood inside a loose fist over and over and over again. 

Ten minutes before the match, and already the stands were half-full, the brown wooden seats quickly being flooded with the colored decorations of each of the other Houses. On the other end of the field the Hufflepuffs were stretching, getting their bodies ready for the game. Harry’s only comfort was that they looked just as put out about the rain as he felt. He was already dressed and already stretched, and at this point doing more stretching would just tire him out instead of prepare him better. And so he was stuck to just stand there and wait while the rest of his team prepared. Yay. 

He tapped his foot, and waited. Waited and waited and waited. He was already accepting his fate of spending the next few minutes in quiet, torturous pre-game anxiety, when–

“Pssst, Harry!” 

Harry startled a bit and spun around, eyes darting to try and find the source of the voice. It didn’t take him long. On the corner of the field, the spot closest to the entrance, was Sunny. He was gesturing him over, an anxious expression on his face. Harry blinked, a bit surprised. What was he doing? A few moments passed where Harry did little other than stare, and Sunny deadpanned. His gestures became more aggressive. 

“Okay, okay, okay,” said Harry, chuckling a bit despite himself. “I’m going, hold on.” 

He walked across to the entrance, tried to ignore how the shift of his legs and arms was already more than enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort– Merlin, how he hated the rain during games and practice–  and stopped right as he reached him, a small smile on his face. It wasn’t often that Sunny was the one to initiate conversation. This was new. “Hey, Sunny. Here to wish me luck?” 

“In a way, yeah,” said Sunny with that quiet voice of his. He swallowed, a nervous tic that Harry was very familiar with by now, and nipped at his nails as he continued. “...h-hey, uhm. Look. Whatever happens up there, just, uh. Just– just be careful, okay?”

It really was a talent, the way Sunny could say just about anything and make it sound like a death sentence. 

Harry grinned, and took the encouragement as best he could. “I will, don’t you worry.” 

Sunny stared at him for a beat. He looked like he wanted to say something more. But, as he always did nowadays, he didn’t. He nodded, and said nothing else. 

“Blimey Harry, you’ve got Suzuki the Silent speaking to you?” asked Oliver when Harry walked back, sounding genuinely impressed. 

Harry frowned, the words taking a second to process before he turned to his coach. “...Suzuki the what?”

“The Silent,” chimed in Fred from the side as he settled his gloves on more properly, sounding as delighted as Oliver did surprised. “Bloody hell, I think this is the first time I’ve heard his voice. I feel blessed. Did you hear it too, George? Have I gone mad?”

“No, no, I’ve heard it too. Wicked, I tell you.” 

Harry’s frown deepened. He turned to the twins fully, glancing back and forth between them. “Do people… actually call him that?” 

Fred shrugged. “Better than the Silent Squib, if you ask me. That one’s just rude.”

“How’d you manage it, Harry?” asked George, huddling over as if he was about to reveal some massive secret. “Turpin has tried everything with him, I’ve heard, but I don’t think he’s even aware she exists.” 

Harry flustered, shrugging as he scratched the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “Well, just… you know, be nice to him. That’s all.”

George blinked at him for a second. Then, when he realized Harry was being serious, he barked out a laugh. “Just– just be nice to him? Really? Bloody hell. You hear that Fred?”

“Why are you acting so surprised?” said Harry, a more defensive edge to his tone. 

Fred was the one who answered, swinging his arm around Harry’s shoulder as he shrugged. “Simple, Harry. Everyone’s nice to him. You’re the only one he's ever been nice to, though. Record breaker! Must feel good, eh? Though honestly we shouldn’t be surprised here. Ron told me you tamed Hagrid’s Buckbeak, if you can handle a hippogriff I think you–”

Oliver clapped once, the sound resounding and cutting through every conversation in the team. 

“Alright everyone, settle down now. Get your head in the game, or I’ll personally make sure you will lose it.”

As Oliver broke into his passionate– and very threatening– speech, Harry slipped out of Fred’s grasp (who looked actually kind of hurt as soon as he pushed him away, which made him feel a bit bad but whatever, he was momentarily pissed and that was Fred’s problem, not his!) and refocused his attention. 

Get your head in the game, Harry reminded himself. 

He’d think about all this later. 

.

..

.

Harry wasn’t sure how it happened. 

One moment, he was chasing after the snitch, rain slicing blades across his face and the cold freezing every molecule inside his body. The air and gravity danced around him as he spun and shot across the world, flying faster and riskier and faster and riskier, getting closer and closer to the snitch, he could just almost grasp it–

One moment, he was in the field, in the game, and he was flying. 

The next, he was in the clouds, frozen inside of a cold that ran past the crippling rain, past the chilling air, a type of cold that was more frosted than ice itself and cut deeper than his flesh and bones, that sank straight into what felt to be the core of his being. 

One moment, he was flying, 

The next, he wasn’t. 

It was all a blur. A blur of shapes and shifting figures and black silhouettes, of a tug and a pull and then a wrench, his limbs frozen and his body limp and he was falling falling falling down down down down down and there was screaming, someone was screaming, a woman, a woman he knew, maybe–

“Not Harry! Please… have mercy… have mercy…” 

Falling and falling and falling and falling, the world went black, blacker than night, blacker than darkness, he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t feel his hands or his feet and a deep, deep, deep harrowing sorrow he hadn’t felt in years swallowed every bit of his mind, every foggy trail of thought. He would never be happy again, he knew. It was a fact, simple as that. He would never, ever, be happy again. 

And then, without warning, without preface, another voice broke through. 

One that rang clearer than the screaming from before. 

If you fall, I fall. 

It echoed in his mind, the words repeating over and over again. 

If you fall, I fall. 

Within the darkness, a glinting blue light breached.

If you fall, I fall.

Something touched his hand.

Something warm.

Warm.

Harry had already forgotten what that felt like.

If you fall, I fall.

The blue light glowed brighter and brighter and brighter and brighter and brighter and—

—Harry woke up in the Infirmary with one of the worst headaches of his life.