[FIN] No. 3: A window on the world.

Since the night at the Leaky, there was something heavy in his pocket. A pocket size journal, dark brown leather brown with gold embossed initial that seemed like it was a personalised gift from someone. The initial was E.A.P.

He knew it was not his right to snoop on someone’s journal. But it would be a lie if he said he didn’t read it. As soon as he found the book, slipped under the duvet, he looked inside. He never saw Pickering handwriting before, it was quite hard to read, but from what’s inside it created assumptions. Not only the information but also some cutted paper there that made his face flushed to read it. Sometimes he was still thinking about the content of the journal, which never left his pocket.

He was in need of a new pen, since he had already warned out and he gave it its last use to Brighid as an offering token. Therefore, on his day off like this, Rhys could go to places with ease and his main purpose to be in Diagon Alley was a new set of pen and maybe some light reading.

His attention was distracted by a sudden disruption from behind. As soon as he realised the cause, he startled like a thief. “You!” His voice was somehow accusing. “Uhm, yeah, sure.” To be honest he didn’t even knew what to say, until —

“You just left that time. I woke up and you just left.” No goodbye? “Somethings wrong?” Did I do something wrong?

Ephraim Pickering. Pickering? It tastes fine, a little bit sour, but incredibly distant. Ephraim, sounds like a pointed finger, a sin and Rhys was the sinner to voice it.

“I told you I don’t like how your name tastes in my mouth.” there was no acquisition on his wording, no judgement, just stated fact with a smile after it. The smile that didn’t linger too long. He took a good look at a man, there was an emergency Pickering said and yet not even a note. Left him wondering if something happened, especially until he found (and read) the journal that was lifted in the room.

Is he?

“Uhm, Yeah, a set of quills and probably some light reading, and yourself?” His hand reached to his pocket without looking, he could feel the journal still here but there was a little hunch in his chest. Rhys contemplated, because somehow he didn’t want to give it back.

Rhys couldn’t feel it but his pupils dilated when Pickering mentioned about the journal he lost. A rush of guilty feeling slowly creeped into his chest, even his hand still tracing the shape of the journal from on top of his trouser.

“Yeah.” Rhys never trained to be a liar, silently taking the best of him. He knew, he knew it so well what he should do but somehow he refused. He wanted to read it again and again and again until he was sure about his assumption. "How could you lost it tho?"

But that wasn’t the right thing to do.

“Is the journal important to you?” He couldn’t even see Pickering’s eyes without showing his guilt. He tried to busy himself with the back of books by himself. Let his fingers tracing the title one by one, while he tried to keep himself calm.

Shit.

A loud crash sound somehow incredibly fitten to his head and heart.

Yes, it feels like shit indeed when you know you are on the wrong side. Rhys bit his lips, tried to hide his feeling inside but when Pickering mentioned the journal was a gift from his mother, Rhys couldn’t help it to not feel guilty. It wasn’t right at all, to keep the man’s journal, it wasn’t up to him.

With a little courage he gained and the chaos from surrounding that created by the crash. Rhys took it as a cue. “You mean, this one right?” He reached his pocket, took the leather bound book with Pickering’s anagram here. “You left it on the bed, under the duvet.” He still couldn’t see Pickering’s eyes. “I keep it in my pocket just in case I meet you again.”

Three of the facts are right, but he didn’t mention his intention before, he didn’t mention about the writing inside, and of course he didn’t mention the collection of a magazine cut with several pictures in it. Reading Pickering’s journal and looking at the man himself seems unmatched by its personality.

They seemed like different people.

You. The word changed its owner. It was exclusively given to Pickering but the man seemed to have taken it away from Rhys. He was too shocked when in a second, it was harder to breathe. His collar tighter, his body swayed forward and he couldn’t control himself. Pickering was there, eyes piercing looked straight to him.

Rhys didn’t even close his eyes, he looked straight back to him. He tried to find out which one was the real Pickering, the one who stood up in front of him about to throw a punch or the melancholic entity who wrote the longing story in the journal. It was too different to acknowledge both came from the same source.

Who are you?

"You... you..."

“You are…” Fairy? Fruity? The Oscar Wilde sort? The green carnation? Tea cake?

He gasped for air when the man released him, almost fell as he leaned to the back but was able to manage himself as he held himself to the shelves. Was it true? Everything that was written in the journal, was it all true?

“No…” Still in shock, Rhys answered with his soft voice. Even the menace from Pickering’s whisper didn’t shake him. “Why? None care! We are not in a muggle world.” Pickering won’t be hunted, or dragged to the conversion camp, or forced to take the medication that resulted in death. None! He won’t allow that.

A hit reality felt like a slap Rhys’ face.


“Your parents are muggles.” His eyes drifted to the man’s neck line, there were two thin chains which one of them he remembered as an amulet but the other — his heart felt like it sunk to the stomach “You are — “ couldn’t handle the belief of the man in front of him would be the residence of the seventh circle of Hell.

Even though he was from pagan family, half-blood some of people said (his father from wizarding family, his mother ‘learn’ to be a witch), none of them had a proper education like Rhys did, but never — never in his entire life he heard a slander word came from his parents. Also, the word never slipped from his mouth. To listen to Pickering, it pinched his chest. Rhys knew the word wasn’t intended for him, but if the man wanted to hurt him so bad, he just succeeded.

“Take that word out of your mouth.” Rhys’ voice became stern, precise, and hard as disgust crawled, not from the fact the man won’t be interested romantically with the opposite gender but from the slander word that Pickering just said.

“I want to know how. How could you know you are not — how could you know you are —” Because it was completely different from what I’ve seen and what I’ve read.

Somehow he still froze in his place, ignoring the sickle near his feet that he saw when the man reached the paper and the man on the window who provided the charm for exams.

It was supposed to be a really relaxed day off for him. Get the book he wanted and maybe stop by at Hampstead Heath, take a walk, sit at the peak while looking at the city of London from the hill. “Take me with you.” He asked. Oh Rhys, curiosity was killing him.

The reaction from Pickering made Rhys disbelieve his own eyes. A realisation of Pickering, even though he was from a muggle family, was a Slytherin after all. Incredibly far off from Rhys’ housemates. How naive!

“I want to know how you know that you are queer? How do you cope? “ It was so too foreign for Rhys. Never in his entire life to actually know someone like Pickering. The man was too furious and transferred it to Rhys.

“Because I like the person who wrote the journal, I want to know him more…” There was tender prose, yearning of love, longing to feel belong, some ode of loneliness. But, it was so far off from the man projected to himself. Rhys pointed with his hand to Pickering “... not this.”

At first Rhys thought he found something beautiful and intriguing, but he took a couple steps back. He heard the invitation but Rhys was aware the man wasn’t even welcome him. Rhys shook his head and drew a smile on his face.

What’s the point, Rhys?

“You right, I have no reason. I guess, I’m just going back to my place. Sorry for the journal.”

He didn’t even care about light reading, just a set of quills and he was about to pay for things he needed.

There was a shift of attitude that became more apparent on Pickering's side, but Rhys already got enough for that day. It wasn’t even a full day he spent with the man but from the guilt, fear, disgust, and disappointment, in the end he would like to call the day off. No matter how patient he was, Rhys also had a limited capacity.

“I know, you said that earlier.” Rhys saw pity and regret. “I guess I’m too knackered, I’ll be an awful company.”

He would like to take his words back. Back in Rhys’ head there were complaints and some voices yelled at him ‘why the heck you don’t accept the offer?’ He wanted that! He wanted the time to ask, to talk, and try to understand the man behind the journal so much but he was too knackered with his heart skipped its beat.

Rhys needs comfort under his own duvet, even though it would cost him an opportunity to know Pickering. Ephraim Pickering.

“But there’ll always be next time, you know where to find me.” He smiled before he left the man there. “Have a good day, Pickering.”