#「 a helping hand 」❖ the bauchan ❖

[caoineaga]

bauchan tag save.!

[havsgast]

7. Laughter

Beau felt jittery as he lied in bed, hidden behind a yellow canopy. He had never slept anywhere beside his own house before, and then he usually slept in his own bed. The thought made him regret that he hadn’t spent his last night at home sleeping next to his papa; they had done it a lot when he was younger and had nightmares, but as Beau got older and Pyri slept over more, it stopped happening.

He couldn’t name the ache in his heart or the uneasiness in his stomach as he stared up at the foreign ceiling, listening to new sounds, and getting used to new smells. Somehow this was more overwhelming than being surrounded by excitable children that couldn’t believe that they were meeting Harry Potter. Not that Beau could believe them either; he had not been Harry Potter for ten years. He had no intentions to start now, but he didn’t  know how he could possibly disappoint a whole school full of people by refusing the name he was famous as.

If he had been unable to sleep earlier, he was definitely unable to sleep now. The emotions felt too big for his body, and the sudden anxiety overwhelmed him.

If it helps, The Voice spoke up. I prefer Beau over Harry.

Beau smiled; it did help a little. Then again, if The Voice really was Voldemort - something he had yet to fully come to terms with - then it was understandable that Beau was preferable. Beau liked him, Harry was supposed to have defeated him and was surely expected to defeat him again.

He wondered if Dumbledore would confront him with those expectations. His smile disappeared as he thought about what his papa had said about his new headmaster.

You could explore the castle, The Voice suddenly suggested. That would get your mind off things. I still remember the secret passages.

You’re being nice, Beau commented, but got out of his bed anyway. He could try to find the kitchens if nothing else; he had heard one of the older students mention that they were close.

Otherwise I would have to listen to your homesickness and anxiety the whole night. I have better things to do.

Beau couldn’t help but giggle; he couldn’t imagine what else The Voice could have to do than be in his head and listen to his thoughts.

If you’re going to laugh at me, I won’t tell you how to get into the kitchen, The Voice said, more offended than Beau had expected him to be.

Okay, I promise to not laugh at you, Beau answered. He didn’t stop smiling or imagine what The Voice could possibly get up to though.

Sanguini looked down into the half-empty glass of wine in his hand without actually seeing anything. It had been nice of Pyrites to distract him earlier, but now he couldn’t stop thinking about how empty the house felt without Beau. The silence felt heavy and suffocating, much like it used to do before Beau became a part of his life. He hadn’t been aware that he depended so much on his son; it was not a feeling that he liked. He had been too dependant in the past… not that that situation could ever be compared to missing Beau.

“Your wine won’t drink itself,” Pyrites pointed out. Sanguini had almost forgotten that he still was there.

“I don’t want it,” Sanguini sighed and put down the glass on the table. He moved to stand up.

“What about blood?” Pyrites offered. Sanguini gave him a considering looking, and then shaked his head.

“Maybe I should sleep,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Do you think you’ll be able to?” Pyrites asked, worry in his tone. “It’s not that long since you last slept…”

“That I mostly ignore the need until I collapse don’t mean that I’m unable to,” Sanguini explained. “I prefer avoiding the suffocating void of dreamlessness, but that’s another thing.”

“You don’t have to stay here. You could come with me to my home.”

Sanguini focused back on Pyrites, obvious surprise in his eyes.

“To be honest, I had forgotten that you have a home of your own.”

“I feel special,” Pyrites drawled. “I can leave you alone if you prefer.”

“No,” Sanguini forced a smile. “I want to see where you live.”

Pyrites offered his hand, and Sanguini accepted it. One moment they were in his dark kitchen, the next they were outside a small manor in Scotland.

“My father’s side of the family is Scottish, as you know,” Pyrites explained. “He gave me the manor when I graduated.”

“That explains the statues,” was the only thing Sanguini managed to get out. There were two ridiculous statues, one on each side of the door. To the right was a gigantic statue of a bauchan, and to the left was a statue of an each-uisge that seemed to be in mid transformation; it looked like a humanoid horse with a parrot-like beak shaped muzzle. It was hard to not laugh at the grotesque styles the statues were in; they were rather offensive.

“I keep forgetting to do something about them,” Pyrites admitted. “I have no idea which distant relative thought they would be a good idea.”

“Is the inside any better?” Sanguini asked, a real smile on his lips.

“You’ll see,” Pyrites opened the door for them. “But we could go directly to the bedroom…”

“Thank you for getting me out of the house,” Sanguini said as he entered the house. “Again.”

“Your company is my pleasure,” Pyrites made sure to close the door behind them before taking his hand and kissing it. Sanguini couldn’t help but laugh. He felt a lot better now.

“You mentioned a bedroom?”