February 25, 2010
Thursday, 9:15pm
Sixth Year Boys' Dorm

Figaro had just come from the kitchens, his bag laden down with supplies to restock his trunk.  He had a billywig sting between his teeth, the soothing, spicy sensation helping him unwind from a long day of classes and student life.  Without Sophie to hang out with (again), he was getting up to no good more than usual.  He was a behind in a few of his classes with some missing assignments.  He'd even blown off a Quidditch practice. 

Because what mattered right now? Just getting through the day and having as much fun as time would allow.

He made his way down into the cozy Hufflepuff dormitories ready hunker down and waste some serious time and eat obscene amounts of cottage cheese.  But he stopped short in the doorway.  The room was a disaster. Even more of a disaster than it usually was. 

"Zelig! What are you doing?"

He was in the midst of flipping his mattress (blankets, pillows, and all!) when Figaro walked in.

Zel turned to face his roommate sharply, and exclaimed, “I am flipping my mattress, Figaro! What does it look like I’m doing? The HULA?” He exclaimed, kicking the mattress. It thumped and slid rather pathetically onto the floor. He gave the mattress a look as if it had just insulted his mother.

He leapt across the now mattressless bed and landed on the mattress, facedown.

“Don’t judge me. My life is hard.” He groaned, his voice muffled against the mattress. He turned his head to look in Figaro’s direction. The side of his face was squished comically. “I can’t even get good pants for my brothers.” Zel thumped the mattress with his fist, causing himself to bounce a little. “And—bloody—bloody KESALI.” He yell-whispered the professor’s name.

“I did something horrible.”

Figaro blinked a long blink and slowly took the billywig sting out of his mouth and dropped it on the floor.  He narrowed his eyes, watched as Zel Trumble flipped out.

He was flipping out. Shouting, venting. Flailing. Flopping.  He pounded his fist.  What the hell was going on? Was there an enchantment in the room?  Figaro instinctively ducked down a little bit, as if floating above him was some kind of crazy cloud that had affected Zel because of his height.  And so now he was taking beds apart and freaking out.

But there was a little smile on his face just the same.  He let the door shut behind him and he took a wide step around Zel on the bed so he could dump is bag down on his own.

"So... how was your day?" he asked in a sing-song voice that didn't seem to adequately acknowled the abject turmoil that was Zelig Q. Trumble at the moment.  His long, lanky form draped across the mattress on the floor, his face buried, the blankets all amok. 

He thought he'd caught the name 'Kesali' in all that.  Which actually made sense.  The bizarre, ghostly Charms Professor was frequently coming up with arcane and creative ways to torture them into learning a charm or two.

Zel sat up and faced Figaro with a pout, the indentation of the mattress showing up on his cheek in red. His muscles were tense, and a vein was throbbing in his neck, looking like it was about to burst.

“It was. Stressful. Was thinking about my monthly transformations. Thinking about my mum a lot. My siblings too. They’re not handling her being in Azkaban at all!” Of course he was, his mother’s situation was affecting his family far more than he expected, and far more than he was prepared for. Granted, he was a werewolf because of her actions and treatment of his sister. To him, she belonged there. To his siblings? They missed her, and loved her. And Rhys—he wasn’t sure his stepfather would ever forgive him.

“And then—“ Zelig threw up his arms, “Kesali comes up! He comes up to me in my safe place. And just.” Zel punched the mattress and flopped back so he was laying down, facing the ceiling. “He tried to be all nice. Fatherlike. Whatever. Telling me I was being strong for them. Whatever. Telling me I didn’t have to be alone. He was being nice.” He let out a noise that was between a groan and a growl. “Kept telling me I wasn’t fine. Telling me things about what my brothers needed as if I didn’t know.”

“THEN.” He exclaimed, “He offered to let me BEAT something. AS IF it would make me feel better! As if being some sort of animal was—was the way to do things! ” The very idea had offended him to his core. Zel was very against violence, and the idea of hurting someone or breaking something to feel better was horrifying.

“He wants to replace my parents, for my brothers. I told him to get his own family. I yelled at him.” He bit his lip. Zel was torn between feeling guilty, and being angry.

Merlin's bits.  Zel had a lot to say.  Figaro sat down on his bed and slowly took out a bag of crisps as Zel was talking.  Jalapeno flavored.  He was going to open them and offer some to Zel when he froze, his hands pinching the top of the bag.  Did he say his mum was in Azkaban? Since when?

A genuine furrow of concern writ on Fig's face and he wracked his brain - how did he not know this? Had Zel told him and he'd forgotten, like an idiot? Was this common knowledge? How did he not know Zel's mum was in prison? And more importantly, why? 

But Zel had even more to say, and started in on Professor Kesali acting like a total weirdo. In all honestly, from an outside perspective both boys might not be privvy to, the man was doing a decent thing, reaching out to a young man obviously in turmoil. But to the boys, it would feel like an affront. An invasion. 

"Bloody hell," he sympathized as a quiet interjection into Zel's dramatic monologue.

Then Zel finally stopped talking and Figaro ripped noisily into the bag.  Rrrip! Crinklecrinkle.  He put his hand in for a few and held them out for Zel.  "Spicy," he quietly warned offhand.

But yea, he couldn't just have a snack and ignore what Zel had told him.  The man was in clear need of a chat. 

"Good for you.  That's one's belfries," he said, chewing with his mouth open.  "None of his business.  How did he even find out?"

Zel let out another growl-groan and sat up. He accepted the chips, though he wasn’t quite prepared for their spiciness. His ears and face turned bright red, and his eyes began to water. “They—“ He coughed “Those are good.”  Anything tasted good. Zel’s appetite increased exponentially so close to the full moon.

“I agree. It is none of his business.” He was relieved that Fig was so open about this. He didn’t run away at the first sign of crazy.

He put another crisp in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully before clearing his throat.

“Lucas and Emeric. They talk to him.” Zel said, “They’ve told him everything, apparently. They go to him now, before me.” Because Zel couldn’t do much about it. He couldn’t afford to buy them new clothes every month. Trumbles began growing fast at this age, and his finances couldn’t keep up. Rhys had to stop working to take care of the youngest two siblings, and now the family was barely scraping by. Zel wasn’t one-hundred-percent sure that they went to Kesali before Zel himself, but that was what he thought.

“I’m being replaced.” He rubbed his temple. “I deserve it, I guess. They’re upset because of Mum. I’m glad she’s gone, just… Not glad that this is… The way it is now.”

Aw, jeez.  This was heavy.  Figaro stuffed his face with another handful of chips to try and hide his frown.  He'd really wanted to just shut off his brain and read Quidditch magazines until he fell asleep.  But Zel's crisis was just a bit too close to home.  And even worse? Zel's situation was worse.  There wasn't even room for Fig to feel sorry for himself.

He set down the bag of crisps and dug into his jacket pocket for his bag of billywig stings.  He did as he usually did and laid a few out on his thigh, all in a row.  He'd choose the longest, fattest one, and discard any that might have got broken. 

"What did your mum do?" he asked.  Part of him knew he shouldn't ask, but he just couldn't help himself.  His own dad had been sent off and for no good reason.  He frowned just thinking about how unfair it all was, how his family hadn't done anything to deserve what the Aurors did.  But Zel - he'd said he was glad his mum was in prison.  What the hell did that mean?

He picked a sting and stuck it between his teeth.  The others (except for one) he bundled up and put back in the little pouch.  He nipped the end off the sting in his teeth and spit the pointy nubbin onto the floor.  The spicy, stinging billywig acid leeched onto his tongue and immediately his head filled with the buzzing of bees.  And in a moment, the buzzing passed and it felt cool and fresh and light. 

He took a deep breath.

Figaro, apparently, didn’t know. Zel had assumed that he knew—he thought it was obvious. And there must have been an article in the paper or something? Anything regarding werewolves tended to be posted. But maybe it hadn’t. He was never one for following the Prophet. Helooked at Figaro for a long few seconds before beginning.

“Well. You knew my older sister bit me, Emeline.” He hesitated. This, this part was always hard to talk about. He told this story over and over again in court, to the lawyers, to the social worker who worked with Emeline.  To the aurors. So many people needed to hear his firsthand account of it.

“We had a secure shed in the back. I was stupid. I checked in on her, usually she’s harmless. Just herself.” His face darkened. “My mum was always harsh on her. Blamed her for my dad dying. My dad got himself killed though. He was actively against werewolves. Vocal about it. One decided to get him back and—“ He shrugged. “That’s how Em got bit. Mum blamed her because she lived, Dad didn’t.” He hadn’t been there at the time, but his older brother, Garrett had. It was not something the family liked to discuss. The werewolf had gotten distracted by a wild animal in the woods, and it was gone long enough for Garrett to get help.

“Anyway. My mum. Her method of punishment for Emeline talking back? Didn’t let her take wolfsbane potion twice that week. We need to take it every day for a week before the full moon for it to work.” Zel frowned. “Mum had apparently done this before. Didn’t tell us she did it this time. Em saw me when I checked in on her and—“ He motioned towards his chest, shoulder, and then rolled up his sleeves to show his werewolf scars—still bright purple.

“I reported my mom. Emeline was going to be sent, and I couldn’t have that. It wasn’t her fault.” His voice was steady, the story had been rehearsed out loud and in his head over and over, since it happened.   "So my mom went, for knowingly withholding wolfsbane, and causing my.. Condition."

"What're you doing?" He asked after a long pause, "With the Billywig stings?"

Figaro listened as the billywig venom slowly seeped out.  It took a few minutes if you just let it do it at it's own pace, but you could suck it out all at once if you wanted.  Made your head spin, though, especially if you weren't used to it.  Figaro had been having the stings almost every day now, though, since they came back to Hogwarts from holiday. 

They made him feel calmer.  Relaxed.  A bit dulled.  So Zel Trumble's horrible story was like the muffled sound of rain beating against the side of a building.  A dull roar.  Every word got through, but Figaro found himself just feeling bluntly sad for him.  Zel showed off his gnarled scars again - Figaro had been really impressed with them before, but now that he knew the whole entire story? They looked terrible.

"I knew your sister bit you," he said slowly.  "Didn't know it was because of your mum."

He handed the other sting to Zel.  It was about the size of a tooth pick, black and slightly curved.  One end was thicker and the other end pointed.  It was dry and light. 

"You just bite the end and the stuff inside chills you out," he explained.  He didn't actually figure Zel would be the rebellious sort to try it.  Not as if it was illegal or dangerous or anything[1], but there were a bunch of rule-followers who'd been giving him crap about it.  Zel could try it if he wanted.

But the more he thought about it... in a sudden burst of energy, Figaro rolled his eyes and leaned against his bedpost in a huff.  He scowled and shook his head.  "Mate, that's such bullshit.  Kesali's not your dad.  Family business is family business.  He's got no right to be bothering your brothers like that.  If you need help, you'll figure it out.  You'll... ask or something."

Figaro rolled his eyes.  He'd never admit it, but he'd more or less repeated his mother verbatim when he'd said that about 'family business'.  Some things were private.  Some matters had to be handled by you and your own.  What did Kesali know about the Trumbles?

1.	It absolutely is sort of illegal and quite dangerous.

“I think they’re going to him,  because they feel safe with him. But I definitely think Kesali needs to… Stay out of it.” Charms class tomorrow was going to be so awkward. Zel almost felt like he just needed to sleep on this whole situation, literally. Talking it out-- it was cathartic, but it didn't actually do anything to change things.

His eyes softened.

“Figaro, you don’t—“ No, he wasn’t going to tell Figaro what to do. And taking the sting? It could dull everything. Make him feel better. The idea of being chilled out was tempting—very tempting. At the moment, he felt anything but chilled out. Stressed, angry, guilty, frustrated—worried. There were so many feelings that they were getting jumbled up and messy. He couldn’t talk about how he was feeling, really. Just why he was feeling? Then, he could only hope
that Figaro could ‘get it’.

And it seemed, that he did.

But, now he was worried—not just about his family, but about his friend. Using Billywig Stings once in awhile was harmless, right? But if Fig was a habitual user… That was when there was cause for trouble. And it seemed like he was? Zel was not sure. He was too caught up in his own issues to pay too much attention to Fig’s newest habit.

“Do you—do you use it a lot?” He asked nervously, and picked one of them up. Taking one—it would help Figaro see that Zel was not being judgmental, right? “I… Don’t see the harm in one, once in awhile.” He bit the end and rolled his sleeves back down.

Zelig shook his head. “Why, are you—Are you okay?” At the moment, he wasn't feeling the whole hype with the stings, but he just had to wait. Part of him was oddly concerned that he wasn't chewing on it correctly. But he was more concerned about why Figaro felt the need to alter his consciousness and chill everything out.

Zel seemed to be calmer now.  More like the Zel that they'd been able to easily ignore for five years, the quiet, measured guy who seemed to work things out on their own.  Don't get him wrong - Fig was actually kind of grateful he'd accidentally ruined Zel's life because they were chums now.

He was still ruminating on what it must be like to have Zelig's messed up family, with siblings running everywhere, and absent parents, and eccentric professors trying to raise your twin brothers and buy you sweaters, when Zel asked Figaro about the billywig stings.

If it had been anyone else, Figaro might have rolled his eyes.  A few people had already tried to play 'mother' with him and tell him that sucking on billywig stings wasn't 'good for you'.  But what did they know? They were totally natural and he practically lived in an apothecary? He never felt sick, either.  Zel, though, he was cool.

Now that Zel was calmed down, Figaro got up to empty his snack stash from his bag into his trunk. 

"Whenever I feel like it," he replied.  Which if he kept track was most days after class, sometimes twice.  He hadn't done the whole Take Them Until You Float trick since the train.  He glanced at Zel who seemed to be chewing on the end.

"Don't chew it, mate.  Nip off the end.  You'll taste it.  Spicy and sour."  Fig took his own out of his mouth to show - it just had about a centimeter bit clean off the pointy end.  He moved a few bundles of socks out of the way so he could tuck in two packets or orange gummy candy. 

"Am I okay?"  Strange question, Figaro not being the most introspective person.  "Course; fine.  Just bored.  This time of year is the worst, like Christmas is over, it's always dark and cold out, and it's ages until spring comes.  I just can't wait until summer, right? We'll be Apparating by then and it'll be total freedom."

He shut his trunk closed and stood to peel off his shirt.   He draped it over his bed post to wear for tomorrow. He picked at a zit on his bare shoulder. 

"Sophie and I are quits," he did admit casually.  It'd been about a week now, and he figured people knew. 

Whenever he felt like it? That was vague. That could have meant five times a day, a couple times a week, or once a month. Zelig bit of the end of his billywig sting and sucked on it. Immediately, his face puckered up. “Uuuughbleeh!” He exclaimed, nearly spitting it out. But he didn’t.  Sour and spicy was not a good combination. What was it with Figaro and spicy things? First the jalepeno crisps, now the stings! What other spicy things did Figaro put in his mouth? And how did his stomach handle all of that?!

Zel wasn’t going to bother Figaro about the stings, not tonight. He didn’t want to pester, and it wasn’t like he was some sort of counselor. He was going to keep a closer eye on his friend though, to see how often he indulged in this new habit. Zel felt a little guilty that he hadn’t really noticed it before.

“I. Can’t wait for summer.” His lips twitched up,  and he was beginning to feel—giddy? Calm? Numb? Zel couldn’t place it, but it certainly wasn’t bad. Just.. Different.

“Oh. I thought—“ Well, he didn’t know what to think. Sophie and Fig had been on and off again for the last year.  “So… Is it done… Forever now?” Zel asked carefully, “I mean… No chance of you guys getting back together this time?” Zel was beginning to feel a bit dizzy, and his mind was a bit foggy. “You’ll be fine and"  He paused, getting distracted by the feeling of his head spinning.

"—is this normal?” Zel began to sway back and forth, and he felt like he was floating without actually floating. “Is this normal? I am supposed to feel like this?” He kept swaying, as if the motion could somehow speak for itself. "Billywig stings are in Awakening potions you know... I'm not going to be up all night, am I?"

Figaro glanced up from his shoulder when Zel exclaimed over the taste of the venom.  He grinned, a little surprised Zel had actually tried one.  "Well done," he mumbled by way of congratulations.  "Today you become a man..."

Fig's own sting was empty by now and he flicked it over towards the trashcan.  He'd ride the 'high' for a little while longer, probably, but Zel was going to have a fun evening.  Since he partook of them so frequently, it seemed like the feeling didn't last as long.  Or maybe he was just used to it. 

He turned away from Zel to root around in his draw for a pair of sweats to sleep in.  Turning back to Zel, he undid his trousers and kicked them under the bed.  He scoffed at Zel's query about the foreverness of the break up.

"Ch'yeah.  If the phrases 'perpetual infant' and 'rather drown in a toilet' have any merit, I think it's a safe bet we're through.  That, and Sophie is extremely insane so I-"  Figaro stopped his prideful little tirade because Zel was having another moment.

He pulled his sweatpants on and perched on the edge of the bed again.  "You're fine, mate.  It'll be a bit zippy at first but just wait for it.  Hold onto something if it makes you feel better."

Then, Zel felt all at once totally blissful. His anger and guilt was still there, but it was dulled, masked, pushed away and hidden. He preferred it that way, and felt like he understood better why Figaro would want to use billywig stings. He still felt a bit dizzy and floaty, as if he would float away if he didn’t hold onto something. But it wasn't necessarily a bad thing! Just a thing!

So, with Figaro’s suggestion, Zel flung himself across the mattress and half-crawled onto the bed. He wrapped his arms around Figaro’s midriff. His feet and legs were hanging off of Fig’s bed, sprawled on the floor and mixed up with the bedding that had become messed up when Zel flipped his mattress.

“I’m a koala bear. You’re a eucalyptus tree.” He mused, before realizing he said this out loud. Holding on to Figaro though, did help him feel a bit more grounded.  He cleared his throat and shifted his arms a bit.

“If it helps, I don’t think you’re a perpetual infant.” Zel didn’t think anyone was. The people who could stay a child forever were both lucky and sad. Zel would have given anything not to grow up so quickly. The forever-children, from Zel’s perspective, were alienating and often excluded as they could never really understand what it was like to be a real adult. He didn’t yet understand the fine line between being child-like and childish.

"Oi...!"  Figaro's protest was neither forceful or sure as the long, lanky roommate slunk up onto his bed to 'koala' himself around Figaro's bare waist.  Figaro lifted his elbows like the tide had risen, not sure if he should pat Zel on the head or shove him off.

He looked over his shoulder, somewhat worried that someone could walk in and see them, get the wrong idea.  But Zel seemed quite... cozy.  And he was very much mellowed compared to how Figaro had found him, dismantling his bed.

"Ah, thanks," he said finally.  He let his arms down a little and he did end up opting to pat Zel on the head.  Pat pat. "Although Sophie was probably being poetic.  If shouting is a form of poetry."

He wasn't letting go.  He'd rather hoped the patting would have helped that.  He gave Zel's shoulders a tentative push.

"Maybe we're both better off," he said, continuing the discussion.  "Not like we were going to get married."