author's note: for susanna.
i don't own it, yo.
He was injured the week before, by some hooded figure in an alleyway in Hogsmeade, and she visited him with a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavoured Beans, and a copy of Hunky Dory.
"The sweets are for you," she told him, "the record's all mine."
"I don't mind Bowie," Fabian replied as cheerfully as one could when they had a hole the size of a tennis ball in their side (it was healing slowly, thanks to Molly and her trusty copy of Magical Maladies and How To Cure Them), "he's not as bad as that Bolan chap Sarah was obsessed with when we were fourteen."
"Oh, Marc Bolan," Dorcas sighed, "my second crush."
"Who was your first?"
She plonked herself down on the sofa beside him, and pulled the end of his blanket over her knees.
"You."
He laughed, and she leant over and took his hand.
"Don't pull a stunt like that again," she said in a low voice, "promise?"
"Gid always says you shouldn't make promises you can't keep…"
"Gid," Dorcas replied fiercely, "didn't try and stem the flow of your blood with his own hands."
Fabian bit his lip. He couldn't remember most of it; just her shouts, and the bright green lights illuminating her face, features etched with fear.
"I don't want to lose you," she whispered, and he noticed she was trembling, "that's all."
He could see Gideon in his mind's eye, rolling his eyes and calling his brother a fool, an idiot for what he was about to say. But Gideon wasn't in love with Dorcas Meadowes, was he? Gideon didn't have the love of his life clutching his hand and begging him not to die on her.
"I promise," he lied.
"Ready?"
"When you are."
"I was born ready."
"Don't get cocky, Meadowes."
She stuck her tongue out at him. They'd abandoned the blanket, and Dorcas' feet were resting on his coffee table, Doc Martens and all. Fabian thanked his lucky stars Molly wasn't there. The Bertie Botts sat between them, and both had their hands poised over the bag, although they weren't touching. Even so, Fabian could hear his heart beat in his ears.
"Suck it up, Prewett," she laughed, "take a bean!"
He obliged. The sweet he took was a dark green, and he had a horrible suspicion it was bogey flavoured.
"Your turn."
She rummaged around in the bag, which was probably against the rules. Were there even rules for Bertie Botts Roulette? Edgar had never made it clear.
"Ha," she produced a bright pink jelly bean, one that was surely the flavour of a summer fruit, "now. On my count-"
"Why not my count?"
"Because I bought the beans!"
"I'm the one that nearly bled to death!"
She pouted like a petulant child. "Fine," she replied, "fine, we'll do it together."
"One," he began, and she resisted the urge to throw her sweets at him. Dear, sweet, frustrating Fabian.
"Two," she chimed in, "three!"
In unison, they popped the beans in their mouths and began to chew. Within seconds, Dorcas screwed up her face and spat it out.
"Ugh," she cried, "soap flavour! Soap! Soap flavoured beans!"
Fabian wanted to laugh, but he couldn't, because his own mouth was filled with the taste of spinach, and he wanted to retch.
"Spinach," he swallowed it with difficulty, and she cackled, although the taste of soap was still on her tongue.
"Spinach and soap! Oh," she drew her knees up to her chin, "oh, what a pair we are!"
The ache in his side seemed to have lessened the longer she sat beside him.
"Yeah," he replied, sinking back into the sofa, "what a pair we are."