Chapter 6
J. Finch Fletchley is, for not the first time in this school (and certainly not the last), terrified. It’s a disappointing thing, to say the least. He had really hoped things would keep looking up. He really, really had.
He’s in his dorm room, knees to chest, shaking with near tangible fear. He’s not a Brave, after all. He’s never been the type to shake fear off- not now, and really, he thinks, not ever.
It was dueling club. It was supposed to be fun. He had even begged to go up there and get a chance to show off- he doesn’t actually know what he’d be showing off. It’s not like he’s a Smart, either.
He just.
He hadn’t expected a snake to be launched at his face, fangs gleaming in the candlelight, and after all, he is just a boy. These things are scary.
He’s scared .
And he’s alone. Wayne and Oliver are off doing whatever they do together, and J. Finch is here, alone on his bed with his mum’s quilt and shivering.
There’s a knock at the door before a face peeks in, and Justin immediately smears the tears off his face and tries to stop shaking when he notices that it’s Cedric.
“Hey, Justin.” His voice is gentle, soft, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. “I heard about earlier.”
So Cedric knows then. Knows that he’s just a coward, even by Puffs standards. Knows that he screamed at the top of his lungs, knows that Harry tried to kill him (maybe?) without a real reason.
Cedric knows he’s weak . And that’s something Justin has never liked about himself. And the other thing that scares him is how much he cares that Cedric doesn’t see him that way. How much more he cares about Cedric’s opinion of him than the others. And the implications of that are just as scary as any snake.
“Do you need anything?”
J. Finch doesn’t know what to say.
Because he wants comfort. He wants to be held, he wants to be hushed, he wants to be told it’ll be okay. He wants these things from Cedric- but that’s too gut wrenchingly terrifying to even admit to himself. But most of all, what he wants more than anything else, is to be different. And no one, not even Cedric, can give that to him.
He looks at Cedric, brown eyes large and watering, and maybe the expression on his face is saying the things he can’t, because the older boy crosses the room and sits on the edge of his bed. He doesn’t speak, and neither does Justin, who just shakes.
Cedric wraps his arms around Justin, and tucks his head over his, holding him in his chest, and Cedric smells like fall wind and leaves and fireplaces and hot cocoa, and maybe it’s because he’s a Puff, or because he’s naturally naive and trusting, or because he’s a child, but J. Finch Fletchley just lets himself be held, lets himself indulge in the warmth that is Cedric, and hopes that things will get better.
He also hopes that they’ll start making more sense.