The morning had, until the door of the Hospital Hut had swung open, been relatively quiet - quiet enough for the retired Auror to steal a few relaxing minutes in front of the fire with a book.  Sasha had led the way inside, looking as jumpy as usual though ... there was something else lingering in his expression.  Tulojow couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.  The tall blond cast the golden eagle preening on the t-stand the usual anxious glance before stepping inside the living room.  Ferguson, with his blood streaked face and slightly hunched limp that more than suggested a sore abdomen followed behind.  The taller Ravenclaw looked, for the most part, unscathed.  The Slytherin - not so much. 

Tulojow knew how the whole healing students thing went.  If they feared getting in trouble, they'd avoid seeking treatment unless it was really necessary (or the pain from a bleeding nose was too sharp to ignore).  It was rare students would admit to fighting for fear of getting in trouble or retaliation.  However, there were some signs that were just a little too classic to ignore.  Before either of them could concoct some story about wayward walls or vengeful light posts (which, would be an amusing excuse - especially since Hogwarts didn't have an abundance of the things), she looked from one boy to the other and said, dryly, "I'm hoping you at least got a few good shots in on the other kid - enough, at least, to make it worthwhile." 


She pushed herself to her feet, her knee crackling loudly as she straightened up and approached the two.  With her wand in hand, she gave the Slytherin's face an appraising look before tapping the point of her wand lightly to either side of the young man's nose, causing his whole nose to, briefly, turn cold before becoming completely numb.  She waved the two of them towards a pair of chairs, rolling her eyes slightly as Sasha offered Ferguson a clean handkerchief.

"Let's wait until the bleeding's stopped before worrying about cleaning up, shall we?"  A Healer's first priority was to minimize pain.  To that end, it was Tulojow's habit to set up nerve blocks to numb any broken bones before setting them.  No point in lingering in pain longer than absolutely necessary, right?  Many Healers preferred to avoid such measures, arguing that the pain helped prevent the patient from causing more damage and displacement simply because they were no longer in pain. 

Such as trying to vainly rub the drying blood from one's broken nose just because doing so no longer sent bright lights of pain into their vision.  Again, why make them linger in pain when, if a patient wasn't cooperative, one could just... "I'll numb your whole arm if you don't put that handkerchief away." 

The Ravenclaw was, pointedly, avoiding her gaze.  She turned back towards Ferguson, taking a closer look at the nose.  "You know I have to ask what happened.  Other than the obvious - and I'll take a look at your side next - anything else I should know about?" 


Tulo's Outfit

 The day had seemed, earlier, to have had every indication of being a perfectly normal Thursday, but the past hour had dramatically changed that. Now Fergie found himself following Sasha into the hospital hut with a broken nose that was still bleeding, sore ribs, and a heart that was currently in limbo because he just didn't have time to brood over what Sasha'd told Callum. He was too busy concentrating on the fact that he hurt and it was cold outside and there was blood all over his face and staining his uniform and was it just him or had the walk from the castle proper to the hut on the fringes of the forbidden forest gotten longer since the last time he'd trekked this way across the grounds? Because it seemed to take forever.

 But they did finally arrive. The rather ...eccentric... healer greeted the pair with a sarcastic comment and Fergie suppressed a sigh. Her bedside manner matched her fashion sense (which, even in his weakened state, made Fergie grimace involuntarily - and then wince, because grimacing hurt). He simply shrugged in reply, unsure of the answer himself. Yes, he'd hit Callum and it had been satisfying. For a moment. But then this had happened and who knew what would happen later, when Callum decided it was Fergie's fault he was in trouble with Austerlitz and decided to take further revenge? On top of the revenge Callum was already apparently determined to get due to everything that had happened in DADA the week before.

 It really wasn't going to be safe to sleep in the Slytherin dorms anymore, was it?

 The witch rose creakily to her feet and examined his face. This, to be honest, was one of Fergie's least favorite things about going to the hospital hut and seeing healers in general. It was just... awkward, standing there while someone leaned close and stared at you. What were you supposed to look at while they did that? Eye contact just seemed weird. Usually he went with the ceiling. It just seemed easier. Today, however, he glanced over in Sasha's direction, trying to gauge how the Ravenclaw was coping with everything that had just happened, and maybe a little bit in the hopes that Fergie had randomly developed the knack for legilimency and could read Sasha's mind and find out what he was thinking about their ...friendship... in particular.

 No newfound mind reading powers manifested themselves, however, so he turned back to Healer Nadge and flinched slightly when the woman tapped his nose with her wand, more from the anticipation than the pain itself. His nose went ice cold, he shivered, and then his face stopped hurting. The Slytherin exhaled slowly, the muscles in his face relaxing in relief, and he obediently made his way over to one of the chairs Tulojow had indicated and sank down into it. "Oh Godric, thank you," he accepted the handkerchief Sasha offered gratefully, flashing a quick smile at him, and immediately set about cleaning himself up. He completely ignored the healer's initial warning.

 "I'll numb your whole arm if you don't put that handkerchief away."

 That, however, got his attention. Fergie abruptly ceased his clean up efforts and jerked his arm down, tucking the handkerchief into a pocket. "Sorry." He muttered, more sulky than contrite. Could he be blamed for wanting to get the blood off his face? It made him feel... icky. He hated feeling icky.

 And, really, did he have to explain? Ordinarily in these circumstances, he would have come up with some story about falling or running into a wall. But Austerlitz had seen this, so it wasn't like the story wasn't going to get out. Hiding it wouldn't do any good. That didn't mean he was eager to explain, though. Did it matter? "I was angry, and stupid, and I hit someone bigger and stronger than me." Ferguson stated flatly. "He hit back. Professor Austerlitz was there, I'm sure she could fill you in on the gory details if you must know. My nose..." Because this was obviously the topic of most importance - it was certainly the one that had Fergie the most worried, as was evidenced by the anxious expression on his face. "It's not going to be crooked or anything, is it?"

"Just don't make me regret it."  Tulojow lifted both eyebrows pointedly as she Ferguson thanked her.  As expected, once the pain was gone, the boy seemed intent on scrubbing his face clean, despite the still-fractured nose.  He did take heed of her distinctly un-hollow threat, however, and wisely shoved his hand in his pocket.  Once he seemed settled and no longer intent on rearranging his own nose, her eyes refocused on the purple and red splotched nose. 

Carefully, delicately, she walked her fingertips along the Slytherin's cheek, just underneath his eyes and down either side of his nose before feeling the nose proper.  The story was, obviously, over-simplified.  Any fool could have seen that.  "I don't recall you coming here with a broken nose on a regular basis which leads me to believe you're usually smart enough to avoid punching bigger, stronger fellows.  I assume it was a fellow?"  Tulojow asked, her voice a little distant as her focus remained narrowed on the relative continuity or lack-there-of of the bone underneath her fingers.  The cartilage was, of course, parting ways with the nasal bone.  There was a small hairline fracture along the side of the nasal bone. 

"As juicy as the gossip is from Austerlitz, I prefer going to the most reliable source.  Any particular reason you chose to break with a perfectly reasonable previous pattern?"  If she could simply get the story from Austerlitz, then Ferguson may be more forthcoming with details.  Not to mention her and Austerlitz' personalities had a tendency to clash all too readily.  Tulojow put a gentle hand on the young man's chin and tilted it up, giving the nose careful consideration.   "It won't be crooked.  Just a little discolored for a few days."  Magic could speed up the actual healing process to a matter of moments but blood trapped between the skin was blood trapped between the skin.  Potions could speed up the absorption process but they couldn't eliminate it. 

Once satisfied with the visual alignment of the cartilage and bone, Tulojow waved her wand twice at Ferguson's nose.  With two soft cricks, the breaks fused.  She ran her fingers, once more, over her work. 

"And, how are you involved?" Tulojow glanced over her shoulder in Sasha's direction.  The young man was perched in a chair a short distance away, watching Ferguson intently with concern and ... was it guilt? ... wrinkling his brow.  But, he quickly turned to look out the window when he noticed her watching. 

"He was helping me,[/]" came the vague and non-descriptive answer from the blond. 

Tulojow straightened up and moved over towards fire.  She added some lavender, mint and eucalyptus leaves to a large bowl and added some hot water.  She returned to Ferguson, setting the bowl on a table next to him and handed him a soft cloth.  "Alright, let's take a look at your side."

 It soon became evident that his summarized, unspecific version of events was not going to cut it. Not that it actually mattered. He was sure the rumors about what had happened were already beginning to fly around the school. "It was Callum Knight." He was sure that wouldn't come as a surprise, even the healer had to know Callum was an arse, at least by reputation.

 "He broke Sasha's wand, and I couldn't just stand there." Frowning, he almost shook his head, but caught himself just in time. The healer was still looking at his nose. He didn't want to be threatened with having his neck numbed. "So I hit him. Then this happened," he gestured to his nose, "and Austerlitz showed up, and we left. I don't know why I thought it would do any good." The frown deepened. This was only going to motivate Callum to be even more obnoxious and generally awful next time. But, "I was just tired of the way he treats people. Especially people I care about."

 The healer waved her wand and Fergie's nose clicked audibly back into place and, most importantly, not crooked. Tulojow was odd and shouldn't have been allowed to dress herself, it was true, but she clearly knew what she was doing. She'd patched up plenty of people before, after all. If she said it wouldn't be crooked, he would trust her. Thank Merlin! Temporary discoloration he could live with, but he already considered his nose to be his least attractive facial feature. He didn't think he'd be able to look at himself in the mirror anymore if it were crooked on top of that.

 As the healer turned her attention to the fire, Fergie glanced over in Sasha's direction and tried to catch the Ravenclaw's eye and offer him a small, encouraging smile. Although it probably just looked creepy, now that he thought about it, since his attempts to wipe the blood off his face had been thwarted. Which was why, when the healer set the bowl down next to him and handed him the cloth, Fergie figured he'd better double check. Just in case. "So... I can clean up now?" He'd really prefer it if the only parts of him that were numb were the ones that hurt.

 Like his side. Ferguson obediently shrugged out of his outer robe and pulled his sweater over his head when the healer requested to see that, inhaling with a sharp hiss as he did so. He'd been concentrated more on his nose before, but now that that was taken care of - okay, yes, this hurt, too. This was the last time he hit someone, the Slytherin decided. He didn't understand the other boys his age who made a hobby out of this sort of thing. Of course, they were mostly the type who actually stood a chance of winning in a fight. That probably made it more fun. Well, they were welcome to it. Fergie would stick with his old strategy - running and hiding until the coast was clear.

 "He kicked me," Fergie explained as he undid the final buttons on his white shirt and shrugged out of it, as well. He looked down at his side, trying to survey the damage. It wasn't pretty. He frowned, cheeks flushing slightly. He'd never been shirtless in front of another boy before - well, not one that mattered (his dorm mates didn't count). And of course the first time had to be now, when there was absolutely nothing romantic about the situation at all. It couldn't even have been at the beach. Nope, it had to be with his side all banged up and the kooky healer present.

 This was his life. This was his life every time.

The death of a wand.  Sasha had always gotten the impression that was supposed to be a remarkably dramatic event.  One that even abstract concepts such as time seemed to recognize the significance of and slow in honor of it.  He'd always figured there'd be some deep, echoing emptiness that hollowed out the inside of one's guts.  A profound emotional loss of sorts.  Neither of those things had happened, though.  Up in the Great Hall, time definitely hadn't slowed and now, sitting in the window of the Hospital Hut, there was no echoing emptiness.  Of course, he'd only had that wand for a little over two weeks.  Maybe there hadn't been time to really ... get acquainted?

A writhing bundle of other emotions was overriding anything having to do with the wand.  Humiliation, dread of returning to the castle and a significant amount of guilt were all simmering in his head.  The guilt seemed to try to surge to the forefront every time he glanced over in Fergie's direction and saw the blood smeared across his face. 

He glanced over, again, when Nagde asked about what happened but left it to Fergie to provide a vague answer.  The Healer was strange.  Really strange.  She'd been an Auror forever - this school probably bored her with its assortment of bloodied noses and broken teeth.  There was no shortage of rumors up in the castle about what had caused the exotic old woman to retire as an Auror and what had given her the ever present limp.

She didn't seem all that surprised to hear Knight's name pop up.  He nodded, in confirmation of the information provided.  "Please don't tell him," Sasha asked the healer after Fergie finished his explanation.  The Slytherin had, conveniently, left out what had originally precipitated the whole fiasco and Sasha was in no hurry to elaborate.  "Dreogan has enough to worry about without all of this."  And, how much would it take before Dreogan decided Sasha was more trouble than he was worth.  Jacoba kept reassuring him that wasn't going to happen - that that wasn't how Dreogan approached things - but Sasha was still uncertain.  His own parents would have shipped him off to some school or church session or something long before this. 

"I was just tired of the way he treats people. Especially people I care about."

The Healer's gaze shifted briefly towards Sasha and he quickly turned to look out the window again, a blush quickly rising in his cheeks.  But, the woman made no comment and when Sasha glanced back a few moments later, her attention was back on Fergie.  Who was currently undressing.  Color again rose in his cheeks but he didn't immediately turn away - luckily, his moment of curiosity seemed to go unnoticed.  Both of the other witnesses in the room seemed to be equally focused on the bruising spreading over Fergie's ribcage.  Sasha grimaced sympathetically as the Healer gingerly ran her fingers over the bruising. 

"Yes.  You can clean up but don't shift too much.  You've got a few cracked ribs.  I've got a few items to put together.  I'll be back in a few." 

It wasn't until Nagde got to her feet and pushed through the doors into the kitchen that Sasha finally moved from his perch by the window.  He hesitated a moment but finally crossed the room and settled in a seat next to Fergie, well aware of the warmth that was still lingering in his cheeks.  But, there was something very ... oddly nostalgic about this.  And, they weren't exactly the most positive emotions that the nostalgia dredged up.  Was this, somehow, fate's way of giving him a second chance?  He picked up the bowl of water and held out his hand for the rag.  "Feels like we've been here before.  I'm sorry." 

 Fergie glanced over in Sasha's direction when the other boy spoke - the first words the Ravenclaw had voluntarily uttered since they'd entered the hut. Not that this was very surprising. Sasha wasn't exactly the most outgoing person on the planet, and the healer was a little intimidating.  And as unpleasant an ordeal as this had been for Fergie, he thought the Ravenclaw probably had it worse. Physical injuries could be healed quite quickly with the aid of magic, as Ferguson's newly fixed nose attested to. But there wasn't a spell or potion that could fix whatever emotional hurt those posters and Callum's words and actions had caused.

 It really wasn't fair or right, that Sasha had to go through all this and worry about being a burden on Dreogan, when he was already dealing with so much. To be honest, Fergie was starting to slightly regret not getting another punch in. Or a good knee to the groin. That would have shown Callum. Too late now, however, and it probably wouldn't have done any good. Like the one punch he had managed, it would only have made the stronger bully more angry in the end.

 He saw Tulojow's eyes turn towards Sasha, and at the sight of the color in the Ravenclaw's face, Fergie's cheeks adopted a blush to match. Perhaps he should have thought about that statement before he'd spoken it, at least in the healer's presence. But then, it wasn't like he'd stated the exact nature of his feelings for the other boy. Just that he cared about him. Fergie cared about a lot of things - family, friends, a good pair of shoes. There was no reason for Nagde to assume that his feelings for Sasha were romantic, right?

 Soon enough, however, Fergie had other things to worry about. Namely, the pain in his side. Funny how easy that had been to ignore before, when his nose had been his primary concern. It reminded him of when he was younger and would complain about a tummy ache or some other such minor ailment (not that cracked ribs were exactly minor), and his brother Marmaduke would stomp on his foot or smack the back of his head. 'There, that'll take your mind off it.' Pleasant chap, his brother. Fergie really missed him. Not.

 The Slytherin heaved a sigh of relief when Tulojow gave him the go ahead to clean up. Finally. If he had to sit like this, dried blood on his face, for one minute longer he thought he might scream. "Thank you," he told the woman with a nod, watching as she exited the room. When he turned back, Sasha had crossed the room and was taking a seat in the chair next to Fergie's.

 Fergie's blush deepened, and before he had time to think about it had handed over the cloth. "Yes. It does." He agreed, fidgeting slightly and looking down at the bowl instead of at the Ravenclaw. Sasha was right. It did feel familiar. Only last time, Sasha had been the injured one and there'd been more clothing involved. And it hadn't exactly ended well. Fergie preferred not to think about it, if he could help it.

 So he shook his head and focused on the Ravenclaw's apology instead. Or, rather, on waving it aside. "It's not like you made me hit Callum," Fergie pointed out, shrugging slightly. "And you certainly didn't break my nose. Nothing to be sorry for - it was my own stupid fault."

Sasha balanced the bowl of ... whatever it was (at least it didn't smell that foul) on his knees.  The nurse was bound to return at any moment with whatever she was preparing and Sasha was well aware he'd placed himself in a fairly incriminating position.  No - not incriminating.  That wasn't the right word.  Compromising?  Revealing?  Exposing?  Whatever this was - whatever they were - the woman was unnervingly perceptive.  Chances were, Sasha could have waited outside the door and he had the feeling she'd still guess something wasn't normal. 

Those thoughts and fears were simmering in the back of his mind but he took the extended cloth regardless.  It only made sense.  Without a mirror, Ferguson would be dabbing blindly.  And, Sasha had to assume Fergie didn't want a mirror.  He folded the cloth into quarters and then, once again, folded the outer edges in on themselves until the cloth resembled a blocky glove. 

"You look like you won one of those pie eating contests," he said, quietly, dipping his cloth-covered fingers into the warm liquid.  "Blackberry.  You know, where they tie your hands behind your back and you've got to ..."  Maybe not.  Come to think of it, Sasha had only seen those on those weird American shows.  The reality ones that tried to discover who could be the most idiotic out of a group of idiots.  Jacoba always thought those shows were hilarious.  Somehow, Sasha suspected those contests lost their appeal when broadcasted over an auditory medium like the wireless. 

The nose might not have been broken but Sasha didn't doubt that it was still sore.  The angry blackberry-ish purple coloration was evidence enough.  He gently dabbed the rag against the Slytherin's cheek, starting at the areas that looked the least angry.  "Are you ... you aren't cold, are you?"  It was the easiest, least awkward acknowledgment of the other boy's currently half-clothed state.  "I'm sure ... there are blankets in the dresser." 

"No," Sasha agreed, vaguely.  He hadn't made - or even encouraged - Ferguson to hit Knight.  Had Fergie consulted with him, Sasha would have pointed out this exact inevitability.  A slightly, uncertain grin twitched at the corner of his mouth and he chewed his lip slightly.  "No one's really ever ... you know ... hit anyone for me before.  It was kind of ... stupid."  The grin twitched a little broader ... a slight betrayal that 'cool' had been the actual adjective of choice rather than 'stupid.' 

But, that really wasn't all of it, was it?  "I should have said more.  I shouldn't have ... I don't know."  Should he have done more?  Said more?  Been more honest while Knight was saying all those other things?  In front of everyone?  Did every detail about his life have to be laid open for any passing stranger to be privy to and judge him for?

Fergie had never witnessed a pie eating contest, but he could imagine what someone would like like after being involved in one. The Slytherin groaned, thoroughly embarrassed. If his face were not currently disgusting to touch, he would have covered it with his hands. As it was, however, the immediately heightened blush in his cheeks was plainly visible and probably only served to strengthen his resemblance to a rabid blackberry pie eater. Or a tomato.

"Brilliant," he joked, with a slight grin that was obviously strained. Fergie wouldn't have said that his looks were the most important thing to him, and he knew that what was inside was more important than what a person wore or looked like, blah blah blah. But Fergie took pride in his physical appearance, and in keeping it neat and presentable. He was, admittedly, a little obsessive with it. The knowledge that he looked like he'd just chomped through 20 blackberry pies was more than a little distressing. "That's just the impression I was hoping to convey. Especially in front of..."

He broke off with a shake of his head. "It's a wonder you haven't run, screaming, for safety. I must look horrifying." Like a monster in one of those muggle horror films. He'd never actually seen one, but he'd heard about them. How humiliating. Yet Sasha was staying, and still intended to help him clean up. The Ravenclaw was either very sweet, or just plain crazy. Fergie preferred the sweet theory. "Yes. That'd be - a blanket would be lovely." He gave an eager nod to this suggestion. Being at least a little bit more covered would make things considerably less awkward.

Once he had this article of... not-clothing wrapped around him, some of the tension left his shoulders and he began to relax, at least a little bit. Seeing the grin on the Ravenclaw's face didn't hurt, either. "I didn't realize stupidity was the way to impress you." Fergie returned Sasha's grin with one of his own. Although, come to think of it, flirtatious grins probably didn't work that well when you looked like a muggle movie monster. "If I had, I probably would have hit Callum a lot sooner." He thought about this, then shook his head. "Or not. But I'd have found something else equally stupid to try."

At the Ravenclaw's next words, Fergie was quiet for a few moments, thinking. "I think you did all right," he eventually said and gave a slight shrug, eyes focused on the other boy's shirt, instead of meeting his eyes. "I mean, it was... stressful. I think there were plenty of things everyone could have said or done differently. Me, for instance - I shouldn't have let Callum see that I was upset. I shouldn't have been upset. I know we're not... That we're just..."

Ferguson trailed off and bit his lip, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder. The last thing he needed was Tulojow walking in right now. "Are we really just friends?" he wanted to know, voice just above a whisper when he turned back to face Sasha. "You know how I feel about you. But I don't know how you feel about me, and... I need to. Please. Are we... is that really what you want?" Was that really all they'd ever be?

I went ahead and assumed Sasha got the blanket - hope that is ok.

Sasha rinsed and remoistened the rag in the bowl of liquid, holding it submerged for several moments so the heat could penetrate all the fibers.  He wrung out the excess potion and then held the cloth gently over Fergie's cheek, letting the warm humidity from the rag soften and loosen the dried blood.  He didn't exactly have a lot of experience nursing people but he didn't find he minded it that much.  At least not as much as he thought he might have otherwise. 

But, he knew why Fergie was embarrassed.  It wasn't that long ago that he'd been in a very similar position.  He knew, unfortunately, there wasn't much that Sasha could do to eliminate that embarrassment.  He could only hope to avoid making it worse.  "It's not horrifying.  I've seen worse," Sasha offered with a shrug, gently wiping the side of Fergie's nose.  "I wouldn't go running.  Especially since it's because of me you're here."  He set the bowl down on a side table and pushed himself to his feet.  He pulled a soft, fleece blanket from an armoire and draped it over Fergie's shoulders before sitting down with the bowl of potion and set, once more, to work.  It was easier, having that task to focus on. 

Especially when Fergie gently guided the conversation to them.  And ... whatever they were.  Sasha's own gaze fell to the bowl in his hands and slowly shook his head. 

He was alright with how things were, though he knew it wasn't fair to Fergie.  He liked it when he didn't have to give them a label and things could just be.  The prospects of affixing labels was just so ... intimidating.  It required putting words to something he just didn't understand.  And, not just words - one single word. 

But, Fergie had a right to ask and he had plenty of reason to be confused.  Sasha knew perfectly well how Fergie felt about him and Sasha had, undoubtedly, made things confusing by kissing the other boy on more than one occasion.  And Sasha knew what he should be saying but he just couldn't convince himself to voice those thoughts.  Sasha cast his own nervous glance around the room before turning back to Fergie himself.  "I-" he started before his nerves and uncertainty caught up with him.  "I don't know-" he winced and shook his head, setting the bowl down on the table, again.  It was a copout answer; Fergie deserved better than that. 

"I just said that to ... I couldn't say anything to Knight.  Or any of them.  I don't-" he shrugged, grimacing guiltily.  "I'm sorry.  I couldn't tell them all ... I don't - especially when I don't know what this is.  I ... you ..."  He didn't know what it was - he didn't know what he was supposed to be feeling.  What did liking someone - really, truly, liking someone - feel like?  And, did it feel different to like another boy than it did to like a girl?  Was it supposed to feel different?  It did seem different than being around Neely, for instance.  "I don't know."  He really wanted to offer better but, in the end, he'd come back to where he'd started.  "I'm sorry."

Fergie struggled to keep his face carefully blank as Sasha answered, but, well, he'd never been particularly good at not wearing his heart on his sleeve around the people that mattered. And Sasha definitely mattered. So despite his attempts, some of the hurt and frustration he was feeling showed through in his face. How could Sasha not know? It was pretty straight forward. You either liked someone and wanted to be with them, or you didn't. And, all right, he knew that it wasn't really that simple, and that he couldn't really blame Sasha. This was all very new to the Ravenclaw, and Fergie knew first hand how confusing it could be.

But an 'I don't know'? It just didn't work for him. He wanted... well, he wanted Sasha to say 'no, of course I don't want to be just friends - I like you', but he'd take an 'I'm sorry, I just don't feel that way about it' if he had to. It at least gave him some direction as to what to do with himself (wallow in dramatic, lonely angst and eat copious ammounts of ice cream before trying to move on with his life). It was a definite answer.

'I don't know' left him with nothing but more uncertainty and this nagging fear that he'd been trying so hard to ignore for the past two weeks - that he was just a distraction from everything else going on in the Ravenclaw's life. Not that he thought Sasha would intentionallyn use him or hurt him, but the other boy obviously hadn't figured out his motivations in all this. So it could be anything. And it really just... it just sucked, okay?

Ordinarily now would be the time that Fergie started smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his shirt, or straightening his tie. Since he was no longer wearing those articles of clothing, he settled for plucking nervously at the edges of the blanket that was wrapped around him. "Oh," he said at last, biting his lip and struggling to sound normal and composed. "That's... fine. I guess. I mean, I suppose you can't help not knowing. It's fine," he repeated, like saying it again was going to make it true or convincing. Except, of course, that he generally only used the word 'fine' when he wasn't. And he wasn't really sure who he wanted to convince more - Sasha or himself. "I'm fine. I... you know, I can do that." He nodded his head towards the rag Sasha was holding. It was something to focus on and talk about, other than their relationship. Or non-relationship, rather. "You don't have to. I can do it myself."

His answer had been wrong.  Not incorrect - the facts behind it had been as true as could be expected under the circumstances.  It hadn't been false either - he didn't know what this was.  If one were evaluating the question in terms of academic semantics, he did not know what this was supposed to be called.  He had no precedence.  No past experience to extrapolate answers from.  Not even some random notebook with an obscure though coincidentally relevant note to refer to. 

He didn't really have anyone to talk to to work out the confusion - that, in the end, was a significant deficit.  If things were within the normal realm of Sasha's academic knowledge, he could come to an answer on his own relatively easy.  If it wasn't, through discussion, logic and civil debate and rebuttal, he could usually come to a solid answer which, from that point on would reside within his academic knowledge.  Like Kafka.  The Metamorphosis had sat for weeks in uncomfortable uncertainty in his mind until that day he'd been able to discuss the fine, inner details with Dreogan. 

But, his answer had still been wrong.  And, it wasn't even the pained look on the Slytherin's face that illuminated that fact for the Ravenclaw.  It had been his own twisted, painful emotional response to that look.  It was horrible seeing that sadness and disappointment and knowing he'd caused it.  The other boy's attempt at convincing him it was all 'fine' was so transparent it felt like a magnifying glass had been placed over the wrongness of Sasha's answer.

Why couldn't he be better at these things?  Why was this so difficult?  He still didn't know - he still wasn't sure how to define this.  But, the guilt and ... something else that was utterly undefinable ... was compelling him to try.  All the longing in the world though wouldn't change the fact that he had no foundation to derive an answer from.  And there was no one he could really talk to to reason this out. 

Dreogan wasn't an option.  Sasha was comfortable talking to him about almost anything but this ... no.  The stakes were too high.  If Dreogan disapproved.  If he reacted the way Sasha's parents would have, as he assumed most would, Sasha simply wouldn't have anywhere else to go.  The potential cost of such a sounding board to bounce his confusion off of would be far too high.   Classmates - no.  That was an obvious answer.  Unless...

He looked up at Fergie and found the other boy's hand stretched out towards the bowl and rag.  His eyes flicked from the hand, to the bowl, back to the hand and, finally, up at Fergie.  Sasha could be dense but even he could see the underlying message.  Something significant had changed in the last few moments following his response.  He didn't like that change.  "You shouldn't ... you should remain still, you know.  Until your rib's healed.  I - you ..."  Heat rushed to his cheeks and Sasha licked his lips nervously. 

"I don't know what this is."  His voice wavered slightly as he fought the urge to avert his gaze down.  He needed to make this right somehow - whatever that meant.  After everything Fergie had done for him, Sasha couldn't hide from this.  Even if finding the words was terrifying.  "I don't - I don't understand it.  Being around you ... it's not like being with friends.  It's not even like it was being around Neely."  Which, that was what it was supposed to be like, right?  Whatever they - that had been.  "I'm sorry - I don't know how to put it into words.  I like how things have been!  I like -"  kissing you.  The color in his cheeks darkened and he finally had to look down at the bowl still in his hands.  "I just don't know what I'm supposed to call it." 

Putting up his guard and attempting to put both physical and metaphorical space between himself and the Ravenclaw had been an instinctive response, but Fergie didn't like it either. Things between them had been so good lately, and they'd grown so close. He didn't want to go back to the awkward stage they'd been in before New Years. Not that they'd stopped being awkward when they'd started kissing. But it was... a different kind of awkward. A better kind, with blushes and grins and racing hearts. Did that have to change?

Apparently Sasha wasn't going to give it a chance to. At least not if the way he refused to hand over the rag and bowl was any indication. Fergie wavered momentarily, trying to decide whether or not he should argue. On the one hand, he wasn't sure letting Sasha continue tending to his face was conducive to this whole remaining aloof and unharmed thing. On the other, it had been a long day, Fergie was too tired to argue, really, and Tulojow had told him not to move around much.

Before he had time to do anything, though, Sasha had brought the conversation back around to what he was feeling. The Sltyerhin tensed slightly, and gave his head a small shake. He didn't want to talk about this right now. But the waver in Sasha's voice, and his obvious earnestness, compelled Fergie to listen anyway.

And in the end, he was glad that he had. Because this didn't sound like Sasha hadn't decided how he felt about Fergie. Just that he didn't know what to do with what he did feel, or what name he was supposed to put to it.

Fergie sat quiet for a minute after Sasha had finished speaking, processing everything. "It's okay." He said, finally, and reached out to softly touch his finger tips to Sasha's cheek, an attempt to get the other boy to look up again so he could see the small half smile on Fergie's face and know that this time he meant it. Fergie was still scared. He was still afraid that Sasha was going to eventually come to the conclusion that this ...whatever it was... between them was a mistake. But, Sasha was obviously scared, too, and he was trying. That was important. So Fergie would be as patient as he could be, and do whatever he could to help the other boy.

"Maybe after we're done here, we should go somewhere and talk about it." This was a conversation he didn't really want to have in front of the healer, and he had no idea how soon the woman would be reappearing. "I mean, I'm not an expert or anything... but I know how I feel, and maybe if you tell me what you can about how you feel, we can figure it out together."

Silence stretched for several long moments as Sasha continued to consider the veining along the edge of the bowl in his hands.  In the silence, he couldn't tell if what he was saying was making any difference.  Some old stubborn part of him was murmuring in the back of his head, asking why Sasha really cared.  It wasn't normal; this wasn't normal - that old familiar voice insisted that he should know that.  But, no matter how much that voice tried to make itself be heard, an even stronger voice kept telling the other voice to be quiet; that he didn't care. 

Soft fingertips rested gently against Sasha's cheek and he willingly lifted his gaze as his cheeks flushed under the other boy's fingers.  "I'm sorry," he said, quietly.  It had been one of those reflexive apologies - one that really had no concrete reason.  It was offered when he was at a loss for what else to say but certain he'd been, somehow, at fault for somethign.  Whether it was for his insecurities or his lack of eloquence or for some other random reason.  "I, yes, we can," he agreed.  As tempting as ignoring the issue and continuing the way they had been might be, even he understood they needed to talk about it. 

For the time being, though, he was content with believing Fergie - believing that it was, or would be, alright.  That things were okay.  Sasha nodded and offered an awkward half-grin before grimacing sympathetically.  "That's got to itch."  He looked back down at the bowl in his lap before taking the rag and wringing out the excess potion again.  "Do you have any idea whose side Austerlitz was on?  She looked like she was ready to eat someone." 


The note from Healer Nagde had excused both of them from classes the rest of the afternoon.  Which was good; Sasha had missed most of Care of Magical Creatures by the time she had finished with Fergie and neither of them were in any rush to get back to classes.  Sasha certainly wasn't eager to throw himself back into the fray now that posters seemed to have found their way onto the school grounds.  He did his best to ignore the ones that had found their way onto the Care of Magical Creatures paddock fences as they crossed the lawns.

For as vast a castle as Hogwarts was, it wasn't easy to find private places to talk.  Most students knew the nooks and cranies and, no matter where one settled, before long someone was bound to happen upon them.  Outside was usually a safer choice though, in the depth of winter, it wasn't exactly a wise one.  The greenhouse that housed the seventh years' plots had seemed the best compromise.  Those that had plots there would have just gotten out of herbology.  Even students that liked Professor Bombay found that an hour and a half in his domain was more than enough at any given stretch; few lingered after class for more time in the greenhouse.  The fifth years were in Herbology but their greenhouse was at the far end of the row. 

And, the seventh year greenhouse was warm, semi-isolated tucked back in the back corner and, most importantly, locked.  Even on the off chance someone walked in on them, it was guaranteed to be a seventh year.  There were far more fifth years and younger students that Sasha feared more than those in the handful of seventh years that took Herbology.  And, if things got really awkward, he could always distract himself by feeding his pitcher plants.

Sasha tugged out his key (or, Grace's key - he tried to ignore the moment of guilt) and let them in.  "Watch out for that one.  The vines like to hide under the ground cover and get you when you're not looking.  It's best to take the long way around."  He wove between the plots until he settled on the bench closest to his own plot.  He gently pushed away a flower bud that reached out from a nearby vine to sniff his ear.  He had no idea where to start - or even how to start this conversation.

taken from IM

As Fergie followed Sasha into the seventh year greenhouse, he could feel his stomach twist itself into heavy, tangled knots. As much as he tried to act like he knew what he was doing, the truth was Fergie didn't have a clue. This whole romance, relationship ...thing, it was unfamiliar and uncharted territory. What if he said the wrong thing, or did the wrong thing, and messed everything up before it even had a chance to begin?

He caught his lower lip between his teeth and warily eyed the vine Sasha pointed out, trying to focus on picking his way through the greenhouse instead of on the impending conversation. But, of course, it could only be avoided for so long. Fergie came to a stop as Sasha took a seat on one of the benches, but the Slytherin remained standing, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

 "So this is your plot?" He asked, looking around. He didn't know how to start the conversation either. "It looks nice."

---

"Ja," Sasha confirmed, his attention shifting, briefly, from the Slytherin to the rather scraggly looking patch of earth.  It didn't look like much; it had only just been ... reassigned ... to him and he'd been knee deep in the planning stages. 

He scowled for a moment, staring at one of the leaves.  Vegetation seemed to be a growing theme in their ... whatever it was.  Which was why they were here, wasn't it? 

"I'm sorry," he repeated, looking down at his hands, again.  "I don't really know how to do, you know, this kind of thing."

---

"That's okay," Fergie flushed and continued to fidget, smoothing out the wrinkles in his uniform. At least it was free of blood stains now. Thank Merlin for scourgify. "I don't really, either. You're my - this is my first time dealing with... you know. All this." He waved his hands in a vague gesture.

He paused to smooth his hair down and try to think of what to say next. Unfortunately, the right words weren't flowing as naturally as he would have liked them to. Where was his gift for gab now? "I guess we should just - I don't know." He shook his head, more to clear it than anything. This was kind of awkward. Why were things with them always so awkward? Fergie heaved a slight, frustrated sigh and tried to shove some of the nerves away. "I guess we should just sort of dive in? Maybe we can think of it as kind of like - you know, when you go to a healer and tell them your symptoms and then they diagnose you? Like that. So, you tell me how you feel and then we can figure out what to call that. Or if it would make you feel better, I could tell you how you make me feel first."

Of course, once that offer had been made he immediately wanted to smack himself in the forehead for being so stupid. Wasn't he embarrassing himself enough already? What if he told Sasha how he felt and it freaked the other boy out or made him change his mind about kissing him or...something? Why didn't people write handbooks on this kind of thing?

---

Surprise flickered across Sasha's features but, with a slight blush, he tried to quickly reel it in.  It had been quick to assume that Fergie's apparent security with the whole ... well ... dating boys thing meant he was more confident with all of this. 

Despite the awkwardness and general uncertainty, a slight grin fluttered at the corners of Sasha's mouth.  "So, you're- nevermind," he started before humility caught up and he shook his head.  He could almost hear the variety of Love Doctor jokes his sister might have come up with but now wasn't the time or place.  Or, really, just time. 

He doubted he needed Fergie to explain his side to be able to figure out Sasha's own emotions.  But, the offer had been made.  And, Sasha's curiosity was piqued.  He knew Fergie liked him; such was an undeniable fact now.  What more was there to it, though?  "Would you?" he asked, quietly, chancing a quick glance around the greenhouse.  So far, he hadn't come across any plants in the place that could listen.  Or repeat things.  Thankfully, even wizards lacked parrot plants.

---

"Um." Fergie's face immediately flushed a bright, cherry red. But what could he do? He had offered. And it wasn't like it was a secret that he had feelings for Sasha. He couldn't really go back on the offer now. "...Sure," he managed at last, voice slightly squeaky. Because, you know, that was just what he needed - to sound like a complete dork.

He cleared his throat and, after a few more moments of awkward fidgeting, perched on the bench next to Sasha. Hopefully none of the plants decided to zero in on him. He was too busy trying not to freak out about what he was about to do to notice any Slytherin eating plants that might be nearby. Several deep breaths later, he finally opened his mouth to speak.

"When I'm with you, I get... butterflies," he confessed, ducking his head and focusing his attention on the greenhouse floor. It was so much easier than looking up at Sasha's face, just now. "You know, like people always talk about. I always thought it was just something sappy people said when they were in l- when they liked someone, and wanted to be obnoxious about it. But it's not. Or maybe I'm just sappy and obnoxious." Jordyn had certainly told him that he was. But what did she know? She was a cold fish when it came to the whole romance thing.

"But when you smile at me or say something nice or kiss me or sometimes if I'm just looking at you - " That didn't sound creepy, right? Like he just sat there and stared at the back of Sasha's head or something. Which, okay, he had done in the past on occasion, in class, in the midst of his angsty, unrequited infatuation. But that didn't mean he wanted Sasha to know about it. "-I can feel them fluttering. And you make me more nervous than anybody else. Not necessarily in a bad way. Just...nervous. Because I want to say the right thing, I want you to think well of me. But then I end up tripping over my words and not a lot of people have that effect on me. Just you, mostly. It's really inconvenient," he said with a half-laugh, glancing up at the other boy momentarily, then back down at his toes as he went on. "But I like being around you, even when I sound like an idiot. And I want to know more about you and I want you to know more about me. I want to make you laugh, because I don't think you do that enough and you should. You have a nice laugh. And while I feel so, so bad that what I did hurt Neely, if I had the chance to go back and do it over I'd still kiss you because it was worth it. Even if you decide now that you don't feel the same way about me, it was worth the risk. And that's... it's way more than I meant to say," he admitted with a slight shake of the head. "But that's how I feel about you."

---

With a guilty grimace, Sasha watched as Fergie settled himself uncertainly on the bench next to him.  But, rather uncharacteristically, Sasha didn't offer any sort of apology as the he watched the boy next to him.  He was curious; he didn't want to interrupt Fergie.  He wanted to know. 

And, there was something oddly reassuring about hearing the other boy fumble over his words.  It was nice to know he wasn't alone there.  Even if Sasha had to keep reminding himself it was, in fact, him Fergie was talking about.  It was infinitely easier to watch Fergie as he spoke when his attention was fixed on the gravel floor of the greenhouse.  And, watching the other boy made it easier to convince himself Sasha wasn't making this up.  Or imagining the words.  Or, simply, dreaming some weird dream.

"I'm glad you did, too."  Why, out of all the possible responses or all the comments Sasha could have remarked on those were the words his mouth produced, he'll never know.  But, they were the truth.  Looking back, he was actually grateful the Slytherin had kissed him.  Even if, "I mean.  That, you know, terrified me."  Finally, his own eyes had to drop to his hands as they nervously ran over the knees of his trousers.  "It didn't - it'd never, you know, occurred to me that was ... it was really even possible.  I mean, I did.  Of course.  I just-"  He didn't know, actually.  He didn't expect it to exist in his world.  And, certainly, not to him. 

"You know.  Everything has been so ... confusing lately.  I don't ... I don't recognize myself.  This is just as confusing as everything else but I ... it ... I don't know."  He doubted he was making sense and he was probably making things worse.  He still wasn't even sure what it was.  "Most of the time it scares me.  But, the thought of you not being there anymore terrifies me more."  That dichotomy only added to the confusion.

---

Fergie didn't really know what to do with himself now that his little speech was over. So he continued to sit there, waiting, muscles tense, trying to brace himself for whatever reaction he got. Because he really wasn't sure what to expect. And when Sasha did speak, Fergie found himself releasing a breath he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding. Sasha was glad about the kiss - that, at least was a good sign.

When the other boy began to talk about his confusion, Fergie hesitantly reached out to take his hand and give it a comforting squeeze. Things really had been topsy turvy for Sasha lately. Fergie wished he could fix that, but he didn't know how. So he concentrated on what he could do - making sure the Ravenclaw knew he wasn't going anywhere.

"That's not going to happen, you know," he said, looking up at Sasha. "No matter what we decide to do about ...this, I'm still going to be here. I care about you. Like it or not," he added, with a slight, teasing grin, "one way or the other, you're stuck with me for a while."

---

Fergie's hand closed around one of Sasha's and the Ravenclaw watched it give his hand a squeeze.  He nodded, slightly, accepting the reassurance and teasing at face value.  "I … I'm glad." 

---

"Good. Because I mean it," Fergie stated, just in case Sasha had any more doubts about that. "And I'm sorry for making things more confusing for you. The last thing I want to do is cause you any more trouble."

---

"I know." 

Sasha finally looked up from the hand on his and watched Fergie a moment before shaking his head slightly, apologetically.  "That's not - it's not you making it confusing.  Not really.  I mean.  Lately, you've been the only sure and consistent thing.  You're not as confusing as you should be.  And ... that's confusing." 

---

"Oh." Fergie caught his lip between his teeth again, processing this. "So... if I'm not confusing -or, at least, not exactly - What am I?" A constant, yes. He got that. But friends could be constants and they weren't just friends anymore, whether they decided to make that an official thing or not. Sasha liked the way things had been between them, he'd said that, and he didn't want to lose Fergie. But what did Sasha want?

---

"I don't know."  But, Sasha quickly shook his head, rubbing his forehead with his free hand.  That wasn't true.  That was just the easy answer.  He did know.  But, offering it...saying it out loud...made it all real.  After everything - after all of this - he had to be as honest as Fergie was a moment ago.  It felt a lot like he imagined those reality shows felt like - where someone was having to jump of something terrifyingly high with a simple harness attached.  The prize money - that reward was so tempting but man it was hard to convince your fingers to uncoil and let go.  Sasha had always figured he'd lose those shows in the first round.

It ended up being very much a verbal interpretation of leaping from a precipice into some terrifying chasm.  The words left his mouth in a free fall, finding their way out before the drop ended and the fear could catch up.  "I like you.  I like being with you.  I don't understand it.  I just ... it all feels right if I don't think about it.  I know I wouldn't want you liking ... or-"  He was starting to hit bottom and the bungee cord was rebounding.  But, apparently, falling the second time was easier when you'd fallen once and survived.  "I don't want you dating anyone else.  I ... you're ... but - Knight and Dreogan and - I don't know if I can tell them.  I'm sorry - I already get enough trouble from them."  Not Dreogan, of course.  But this - this was something completely different.  Sasha didn't want to tempt fate.  "They already know everything else about me.  That seems wrong, I know, but I just ... I can't let them know."

---

The words 'I like you' sent a warm, happy feeling spreading through him, and the aforementioned butterflies made an appearance, fluttering around softly. Fergie couldn't help but give in to the smile that tugged at his lips. He had waited a long time to hear those words.

"It's all-" he began, but paused. It wasn't all right, exactly. If Fergie was being honest, he knew he would rather not hide anymore. He didn't want to hide who he was, and he didn't want to have to hide what was going on between himself and Sasha. But, "I understand." Because as much as he didn't want to hide it, "There are people I can't tell, too. My parents... I haven't told them. They don't know about... me. And I'm not ready for them to know." He wasn't ready for the consequences he knew that would result in. "I have a sister at Hogwarts, and a cousin, and I'm not sure how they would react or if they would tell." And Sasha was right. Letting Callum know would be a bad idea. And Neely... Neely would be hurt, and angry, and Fergie didn't want that, either.

"So we'll keep it quiet for now," Fergie nodded, then paused and looked back up at Sasha. A fresh wave of color tinged his cheeks, but he pressed onward anyway, hopeful, shy, and a little giddy all at the same time. "Does this mean... does it mean you want to be my, you know, boyfriend?" The word ended up coming out in almost a whisper, but it was clear enough.

The words had found their way out of his mouth and had ... existed.  They'd fallen from his mouth in one solid mass but seemed to linger in the air around him for several moments.  They were there.  Sasha had said them and he couldn't take them back.  Which, was alright.  No matter how scary this moment was, he didn't want to take them back. 

But, he did wish his face didn't flare up quite so suddenly with a wave of heat when the other boy smiled at him.

He let out a long, deep, shaky sigh which ended in a slight laugh.  Taking another deep breath, he looked back up at Fergie and nodded, grateful the Slytherin understood.  Sasha had just, a moment before, told himself in so many words that he liked Fergie.  For now, telling anyone else would have to wait. 

"What do you think they'll do?"  He asked quietly, shrugging slightly.  He could only imagine how his own parents would have responded.  Though this whole ... thing ... hadn't really come into the equation for Sasha but he knew what it was like to hide things from his parents.  Important things.  Things that, well, defined who he was.  He frowned sympathetically at Fergie, nodding his head.  "You don't think ... are you sure it wouldn't be easier ...  what if they, you know, do find out?"

Whether or not it was deliberate, Fergie had probably posed the question in the safer way.  Admitting he liked another boy had been a big first step and his comfort level would have to work to catch up to that.  It was purely a matter of symantics but confirming 'I'll be your boyfriend' was much easier than saying 'you'll be my boyfriend.'  Both were true; he would have said yes to both.  The one that sounded more ... familiar ... was just easier.  "I ... yes.  I do want to."  He glanced over at Fergie and nodded his head, the warmth again flooding his cheeks.  "If you're sure.  I don't want to get you in trouble or anything."