A dark room in south London smelled strongly of rum and depression, the lone figure slumped on his desk; his emerald green eyes were glazed over in his drunken stupor. He could clearly see the window, snow falling silently and glittering in the moonlight.
What was wrong with him? He didn't specifically know- couldn't tell really. All he was really certain of was that a spell had gone wrong… and that he had no idea to how to fix it.
Even now, the empty bottle of liquor was turning icy in his bare hand… not that he noticed. Not that he honestly cared. What he did care about, however, was the conversation he'd had with his younger brother through the door… the conversation that lead him to drinking away his problems.
'…Of course I wanted to build a snowman… I wish I'd said it- that I'd confessed…'
He turned his gaze to the door, imagining the face of little, sweet, innocent Alfred… Wondering why his brother wouldn't play with him. That little boy's disappointed and heart wrenching voice drifted through his mind and before he could put the face to the noise he was staggering to the cabinet across the room for another bottle of something to block it all out.
'But I need to stay locked up inside- although I hate to hide… I know it's for the best…" just until he could find the counter to this bloody spell- no, curse… They'd go back to how it used to be… And it'd be perfect- right?
'You know you're still my best friend; I wish that I could be out there by your side…'
Shit, he fell… but at least he could see out the window… could watch the peaceful flakes fall lightly to the ground and land just as softly. And that allowed him to ignore the hardwood floor turning into ice around his hands.
'Of course I wanted to build a snowman. Oh how I'd have loved to build a snowman.'
He'd been pretty harsh in turning the small child away… was he…?
'Were you still there, Alfred?'
"Okay… bye...' No, he left soon after- his voice full of unshed tears.
That cabinet wasn't too far away, was it?
Christmas was coming up, in a few days in fact. But sadly, even 7 years later, Arthur hadn't managed to reverse the curse…
And once again, he was nursing a bottle of alcohol- this time whiskey- as snow was falling in the late night hours.
Alfred had called his friend Mathew to come over and play, but the purple eyed, blonde boy was playing with his own brother that day… they were going to play hockey. This, of course, reminded the tween that he had his own brother to play with, and it also sent him knocking on Arthur's door.
'Of course I wanted to build a snowman- and run around, and dance, and play…'
Damn, the glass was beginning to crack… Without another thought, the Englishman downed the rest of the liquor and threw the bottle to his left; it landed almost silently into the bin, accuracy honed from years of practice.
'I'm really lonely stuck inside this damn room… my life's all gloom and doom, but I have got to stay…' At least until he can cure himself. Man, he's so close- so bloody close- he can taste it.
It tasted of Jack Daniels.
"Hang in there Arthur…" He spoke his thought aloud… Who cares? Not like anyone can hear him.
'I know you're feeling lonely…I know I am too, but my powers will not subside.'
"Conceal, don't feel… Conceal, don't feel!" He whispered harshly to himself. If only that helped… He needs more liquor.
The January 3 years later was a tough one… It was a time that one of Alfred's best friends had died.
A drunk driver had swerved onto the sidewalk- hitting Mathew Williams in such a way that his death was painless for him; but not all who knew the shy Canadian.
He didn't know the extent of sorrow Francis, the teen's elder brother, was feeling, but Alfred was taking it hard. For 5 days now the boy had been sobbing outside his door, alternating from stories of the deceased, yelling ways he could have been a better friend, and begging for him to come out.
It was out of respect that he did not pick up a bottle of alcohol to drown out his sorrow and guilt… and the fact that everything he touched had begun to freeze- even when he was wearing leather gloves.
'Alfred… Yes I know you're out there…' Even in his sleep, the boy was whimpering, it was as pitiful and depressing as usual. 'It must be tough out there on your own, but now my magic has grown much too strong…' at this point, he couldn't even pick up his wand without it turning into a useless popsicle. 'I've feared this all along…'
"I must be alone…" he whispered to himself, looking at his covered hands in shame. Maybe if he had tried harder… had taken this more seriously…
"Plus, you deserve much better than what I could be… There's nothing that I can do…"
Sober, tear filled eyes gazed sadly, longingly, regretfully at the solid, oak doors.
'We've always wanted to build a snowman…'
But, as sniffles and pained whimpers filled the silent night air, he realized something… they never would.